


Number Four

by ChloeNyme



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Happy Ending, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-09-05 21:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeNyme/pseuds/ChloeNyme
Summary: May is not a woman who is unaccustomed to tragedy. But she does stupidly hope it ends with the rule of three. It takes Peter disappearing without a trace for her to realize that the world is cruel and cold and utterly unfair.Or, the classic hurt/comfort/recovery story told from May's POV.





	1. Prologue

May Parker is a woman used to tragedy.

She didn’t use to be. She used to be a nursing student who met a goofily charming man named Ben at a bar one night. Three years and one degree later, she married that man and they started their lives in an old but quaint apartment in Brooklyn. Years passed. They moved from Brooklyn to Queens and the topic of children was always short and succinct – no need, they were happy with each other. They both worked fulfilling full-time jobs and were looking into rescuing a small dog.

Then Richard and Mary Parker dropped off their young son before they quickly left town for a “work related emergency”.

And that’s it. Tragedy number one.

She and Ben pick up the pieces as best they can. She quits her nursing job for something less stressful and more flexible. As natural as being a parent is to Ben, she truly struggles those first few years with Peter, uncertain and second guessing every step along the way. She needs time and the ability to learn the new life she’s thrown into, and Peter’s welfare is her number one priority.

She learns as Peter grows. Eventually she goes back to nursing. Peter is growing into a wonderful, if not a bit awkward, kid. And then one evening she gets a call from the local police.

Tragedy number two rocks her foundation at its core.

May spends days wandering around the apartment, hands shaky and memory lapsing, while some random relative makes funeral arrangements. She isn’t even sure who to thank after the fact.

It isn’t until the funeral when she looks over at Peter – _really looks_ at his pale pallor and sunken face – that she realizes that she has a bigger job to do. One she is miserably failing. She buries her grief deep down and guides Peter home from the cemetery. With help from Ben’s life insurance, she takes a temporary leave from her job and focuses on Peter.

Unfortunately, Ben’s death leads to Peter withdrawing in ways that are predictable but heartbreaking. Over the months, he lies, skips school, and sneaks out at night. May gives him space, as much as she can, until one day she walks into his room only to see a red and blue spandex outfit.

If tragedy number two is a bomb, tragedy number three is a slap in the face.

Peter would never consider his powers a tragedy. But all May can see is a future of super-powered villains and explosions and pain. Over the past decade, she’s watched this generation’s heroes stop one apocalypse after another, and while she is thankful, she is also acutely aware that they never look happy. A hero’s life never seems to include a wife and children and a family to love and support. A hero’s life only ends in one way – tragic.

But Peter begs and pleads and promises it wasn’t like that. That he isn’t an Avenger. That he only helps with low level crimes. And May takes one look at Peter's passion and desperation, thinks back to how dull his eyes were as he stood over Ben's grave, and relents – with some very strict ground rules.

So while May is not a woman who is unaccustomed to tragedy, she does stupidly hope it ends with the rule of three.

It takes Peter disappearing without a trace for her to realize that the world is cruel and cold and utterly, heart-breakingly _unfair. _

May thinks about that last morning with such fervent frequency she can recall it word-for-word without even trying.

She was so stupidly, oblivious – so _goddamn naïve_ – that May almost wants to slap her former self when she thinks about her last conversation with her nephew.

_Peter rushes out of his bedroom with such a momentum that his bedroom door closes on its own behind him. _

_“Grab some breakfast before you go,” May states amidst pouring herself a cup of coffee, not even taking the time to turn around._

_“Can’t. Gonna be late.” May silently holds out a package of peanut butter crackers as Peter brushes by her. He quickly grabs them before throwing on his backpack. “Thanks, May.”_

_It isn’t much but at least it is something to keep him going until lunch. _

_“One hour of homework before you go out tonight.” _

_“Yeah, I know.” Peter throws open the front door and darts away._

_“I want you home by nine!” She calls out after him. “You have exams next week. It’s not summer yet!” _

_“Got it!”_

And Peter left. No ‘Goodbye’. No ‘Be safe’. No ‘I love you’.

That night, May returns home from a twelve hour shift to an empty bedroom and an unmade bed with a Midtown sweatshirt haphazardly thrown in the middle of it. She falls asleep on the couch thinking of ways to double-ground a teenager. It isn’t until the next morning when the same sight greets her and Peter’s phone goes straight to voicemail does May think something could be horrifically wrong. Swallowing her fears, she dials Tony Stark’s personal number – one of the first caveats to Peter keeping the suit.

_“Hello,”_ a groggy voice answers.

May checks her watch. Five-thirty stares back at her. Her heart sinks to her stomach a bit more. “Do you know where Peter is?”

_“F.R.I.D.A.Y., bring up Peter’s location,”_ Tony's voice has a lazily calm quality that May envies.

“I’m getting access to that tracker once I ground Peter six ways to Sunday.” She hopes her rapid heartbeat and shaky hands don’t translate over the phone.

_“That’s…interesting.” _

“What’s interesting?” Everything in her stomach turns to lead.

_“Call you back in five.” _

“I swear to-“

A loud beep signals the call ending.

May swallows the rest of her sentence. Gripping the phone, she sits on the edge of Peter’s bottom bunk, her free hand absentmindedly kneading the blue sweatshirt.

In an act of pure torture, Tony calls back in twenty minutes.

_“May, you need to file a missing person’s report,”_ Tony speaks slowly and deliberately, like he knows everything coming out of his mouth is just _wrong._

May’s brain short-circuits. “What? Why would I do that?” A missing person report means someone is _missing_. Peter isn’t missing. He’s just a reckless teenager who can’t be bothered to look at a clock.

_“I found Peter’s suit discarded in a dumpster on the other side of the Hudson.” _

“What?” May pauses, her brain struggling to connect a situation where this is even close to a feasible reality. “You’re Tony fucking Stark. Track his phone. Hack into the security cameras. Run facial recognition. Do _something_!”

_“May…I already did.” _

And that is when May’s world shatters into a million irreparable pieces.

Unlike in the aftermath of Ben’s death, in the months that follow May struggles to latch onto anything of importance. Peter was her life-preserver in the storm. Now Peter’s gone, and she is drowning in the tedium of daily life. There’s absolutely no motivation to make coffee or do laundry when her nephew – her _child _– is gone and absolutely no one seems to know where.

She returns to her job in hopes that having a role in saving people will bring her some purpose. All it does is provide her a way to pass the time.

It's after a long shift when she hears it. A soft thump. She would have probably missed it if she wasn't in the kitchen halfheartedly throwing a frozen dinner in the microwave. Her head perks up towards Peter’s closed bedroom door.

She’s kept everything the same, only allowing herself to go into the room on lonely nights when everything is overwhelming and terrible. She finds smelling the sweatshirt left behind sometimes brings her comfort – even though it now smells more like her than him. The first night she realized that was a tough one, complete with an empty bottle of wine and box of tissues.

Regardless, one unmistakable thump leads her to the door. Holding her breath, she slowly opens it – Peter always kept it closed and leaving it open to reveal no one inside was a bleak reminder of his yawning absence that she wanted to avoid.

Inside nothing has changed.

Peter is still gone. The room is still empty.

Nothing has changed except for _everything _has changed.

The window is open and the sweatshirt is no longer on the bed.

For the first time in a long time, May feels a flutter. Something that she refuses to put a name to but feels an awful lot like _hope._

May slowly enters the room, careful not to touch anything. She switches on the light, confirms the room’s lack of occupants, and then calls Tony Stark.

“Any news?” she asks without preamble, glancing around the room for anything else out of place.

_“No, you’d be the first to know.” _

“Please, there must be _something._”

Tony pauses for a long moment. She can practically hear his internal debate through the phone. _“There was something last week…I honestly thought…” _Tony sighs loudly in her ear. _“They must’ve moved him before we arrived.”_

May doesn’t even think to ask who. Her brain is too busy jumping from the empty bed to the open window. “But he’s not – “ she stops, unable to say the word. It’s the one possibility that the cops are sure of but she and Tony never discuss.

“_There’s no sign suggesting it. There’d be a – “ _

May is grateful Tony also cuts himself off. There’s no room in her mind for death and bodies when there’s an open window and a nephew who happened to relish in his ability to scale walls. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for answering,” she says numbly.

_“Always._”

With that, May hangs up the phone and slides down the wall.

May sleeps on Peter’s floor that night. It isn’t comfortable, but she can’t bear to leave her spot next to his door. The next day, she calls in sick without an inkling of remorse. Part of her brain tells her she’s going crazy – that this isn’t a normal reaction to what must’ve been the most low-key burglary ever. The rest of her brain tells that side to shut up _– _that she needs to be here just…_in case. _The possibility of it fills her stomach with dread and hope. It’s an odd combination that makes her feel off kilter the entire day. She stumbles her way through breakfast and lunch, leaving the door open while she rummages around in the kitchen. For dinner, she quickly grabs a bag of chips and mentally refuses to leave his room for the rest of the evening.

She will be here next time. She _will._

Late into the evening, after her back protests her choices for a solid hour, she slides her way into the bottom bunk of Peter’s bed. The comfort the mattress brings is almost her demise. She’s – _stupidly _– half dozing when she sees a dark silhouette stealthily padding past the bed.

“Peter?” she breathes, her soft voice echoing across the quiet room like a gunshot.

The figure stills.

May is awake in a flash – heart leaping into her throat – scrambling over her legs to get closer to the figure.

The figure is the right build but it’s too dark. _It’s too goddamn dark_, and she still can’t see their face. But she doesn’t miss the way the figure quickly twists back towards the window.

With a force she didn’t know she possessed, May leaps to the foot of the bed, banging her head on the top bunk in the process. The pain is dull and faraway as she scrambles over the end of the bed, effectively blocking the figure from the window.

It’s still dark but with aid from the streetlights streaming in behind her she can finally make out the person standing in front of her.

He’s wearing the familiar, blue sweatshirt, its hood up and shrouding his face. But May can still see the slight bend in his nose and the curve of his lips. It’s him. It’s so distinctly _him_.

“Peter?” May tries again.

After six long months, Peter’s finally come home.


	2. The First Day

Jesus Christ, Peter’s back. He’s _back. _He’s found his way home.

May steps forward, closing the distance the between them.

Peter immediately steps back.

She pauses, brow furrowing, until she realizes his shoulders are quivering – downright shaking – beneath the sweatshirt.

“Peter,” she states, his identity no longer a question. Even though her heart is racing and she can barely keep her hands still, her voice has the same calming quality as it does when she's trying to interrupt Peter mid ramble.

Peter’s eyes dart around the room. He raises his hands, fingertips trembling.

Peter is afraid – he’s _petrified _– and she has no idea the reason why. His eyes finally settle on the door behind him. Then it hits May like an anvil. He’s looking for another way out.

He scared of _her._

May swallows her own fears – fear of Peter’s trauma, of waking up, of being _left behind_ – and reaches towards him.

There were so many lonely nights. Nights where her thoughts ran rampant, where she imagined hundreds – _thousands_ – of different ways Peter would return. Countless times where she wondered where he was and why no one was able to find him. Nights that seemed to last an eternity, and she wasn’t sure she would survive to see the sun rise.

Peter takes a step towards the door.

“Stop…p-please,” she begs. She feels a tear slide down her cheek but doesn’t bother to brush it away.

To her surprise, he does.

She bites her lip to stop from saying his name again. Something is terrifying her boy, and, for whatever reason, what she is doing isn’t helping. “It’s May…your Aunt May,” she tries. Maybe it’s too dark. Maybe the streetlights behind her are shadowing her face too much. Maybe he doesn’t realize that he’s finally home. _Safe _– a word that was a pipedream only a few minutes ago.

May tenuously tries another step towards him. Peter ever so slightly leans his body further away, but his feet remain rooted in the middle of the small room.

May takes it as a small victory.

She pauses in her advance. “It’s okay… I-I just really missed you, Peter.” Her voice wavers and cracks but she manages to keep the words strong. 

To her dismay, Peter doesn’t react. He goes back to looking around the room, though not as fervently as before. She remains still, allowing Peter a moment. Waiting is the one thing she’s learned how to do in the past six months.

Seconds tick by into a minute, and then two. When nothing Peter does is forthcoming, May calms her fluttering heart and offers, “Would – Would you like something to eat?”

Peter’s eyes finally find hers in the darkness. They’re wide and uncomprehending – like he’s surprised by the question. As soon as they land, he looks away, pulling the sweater’s sleeves over his hands and kneading the material anxiously.

May momentarily mourns the loss of connection. Peter seems adrift in the small room. Purposefully distancing himself from her in every way he knows how.

“C’mon let’s get some food.” She gestures Peter towards the door, even though the thought of eating makes bile turn nauseatingly in her stomach.

In front of her, Peter makes a slow, weary trek out of the room. May remains close but purposefully stops herself from crowding him. She thinks it may be the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

Luckily, she’s absentmindedly left the light on in the kitchen. Peter slows to a halt beside the closest kitchen chair but makes no move to sit.

May slightly stumbles behind him, tears welling in her eyes. The bright light brings some harsh truths that she is – _so foolishly_ – unprepared for.

While the blue hoodie is reasonably clean, Peter’s once-white cotton pants appear to highlight every atrocity that he’s sustained. They’re filthy, torn, and stained in various areas with dirt and dried blood. May’s eyes travel downward to Peter’s bare feet, crusty and black from the outside world. 

May runs a hand over her mouth and quickly blinks back her tears, swallowing them down deep so Peter doesn’t have to see them. Silently, she reaches around him – _oh so carefully to not startle him _– to pull out a chair.

“Go ahead, honey,” she encourages, pleased when her voice doesn’t reveal her sorrow. She doesn’t move around him until he’s fully seated, nervous he may try to run again now that the front door is within sight. 

Keeping her body slightly turned towards him, she throws a plate of leftover pasta in the microwave. As she busies herself setting the table, she covertly attempts to get a decent look at his face. But Peter keeps his hood up and head down. Ninety long seconds later, she scoops the pasta onto two plates – his much larger than hers – and brings them to the table.

Seated across from him, she can now see the way his overlong, tangled hair drapes over his face.

When Peter doesn’t move, she forces herself to take a bite. “Go ahead. It’s good. I promise I didn’t make it,” she says around a mouthful of lukewarm pasta. Her joke falls flat but Peter picks up a fork anyway.

His dirty fingertips peak out beneath the sleeves of the blue sweatshirt as they tentatively encircle the fork. May bites her lip at the sight of his torn and jagged fingernails. Peter may be a geeky, teenage boy but he always prided himself in having decent hygiene. 

Without raising his head, he shovels a small bite into his mouth and then gently places the fork beside his plate.

May takes a small sip of water while she eagerly waits for some sign of awareness. She feels herself growing desperate. She forces herself to not focus on the dirty feet and torn fingernails. She purposefully ignores the fact that his pants look overwhelming similar to hospital scrubs. Instead, she plays the same thought on repeat – _He came here. Twice, he came here. He must remember something. Something. Anything._

She gingerly places the glass beside her and smiles gently, praying it comes off at least somewhat genuine. “Peter, honey. Can you look at me?”

Peter slowly raises his head. For how dirty his hands and feet are, his face is surprisingly clean. His doe brown eyes lock on hers but are devoid of emotion.

May feels tears rise again but focuses on keeping the smile on her face. “Hey there. Do you know who I am?”

She unknowingly holds her breath. Of all the situations she had imagined of Peter returning, never once had she thought she would have to ask him if he remembered her. For the longest moment, Peter doesn’t move. So long that May is almost certain that he will shake his head, or worse, not answer at all.

But then, slowly and unmistakably, Peter nods.

May smiles so wide that her tears fall untethered. She doesn’t try to stop them. “Good. That’s really good.”

-:-

May watches Peter sleep on the couch across from her, afraid that if she closes her eyes she’ll open them to a dark and empty bedroom. While he doesn’t appear agitated, he doesn’t look restful. He just looks de- _unconscious. _Like exhaustion took over his body and he simply shut down.

Sighing, she mutes the old sitcom quietly playing in the background and carefully drapes a blanket over Peter’s still form. With his blackened hands and torn pants hidden, she can almost pretend it’s just another Saturday night. One where Peter exhausted himself on patrol before joining her for a late night movie and pizza dinner.

God, it feels like a lifetime ago. She isn’t even sure if she could be that person in Peter’s life again. The mere thought of him going anywhere without her leaves her with a twisted stomach and sweaty palms.

May silently stands and clears the table, frowning at the little Peter had eaten. She didn’t miss the way his cheeks seemed to have lost their baby fat, leaving pronounced cheekbones and a hallow appearance. She leans against the empty table and brings out her phone, her sight never leaving Peter. She barely looks at the screen, dialing the number she now knows by heart.

Tony answers on the first ring. _“Hi May.”_ His voice is surprisingly alert considering it is well after midnight.

“He’s here,” she blurts out, catching herself by surprise. While she isn’t sure exactly what she was planning on saying, it definitely wasn’t that. But now that she has Tony on the phone – another adult, albeit distantly, to confirm this shared reality – she simply cannot help herself.

_“What?”_

“Peter’s here. He’s _here._”

_“Wait…What?”_ His confusion quickly turns into disbelief.

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” She knows her voice has taken on a frantic, crazed edge, and, honestly, she isn’t sure she would believe herself right now. She takes a moment to let out a shaky exhale. “He just…showed up.”

_“Oh my God, that’s–”_

“A miracle,” May sighs. She hears soft rustling through the phone.

_“I’ll be there in less than five.” _

“No, Tony, wait.” May runs a hand through her hair. Peter’s here, but he hasn’t spoken, has barely eaten, and has avoided any attempt of physical contact. She lowers her voice and turns her body slightly away from the dozing boy, “He’s not okay.”

_“He’s injured? Make it less than three.”_

“No!” May exclaims before she can stop herself. God, the last thing she needs is Tony crashing into her apartment in full Iron Man gear. “No, that’s not what I mean. He’s fine, I think.”

_“You think?!” _

_Shit._ Not that May knows anything about anything superhero related, but it definitely sounds like an iron suit is booting up in the background. “It’s just-“ she starts, peering over the couch. She sees Peter shift against the armrest, his eyes blearily blinking. Her voice lowers to a whisper, “He’s awake. I’ll call you back.”

She lowers the phone only to immediately bring it back up to her ear. “Don’t. Come,” she warns before hanging up.

May rounds the sofa to see Peter push the blanket off with shaky, uncoordinated hands. His eyes dart around the room uneasily, never quite landing on anything. She slides the coffee table to the side and kneels down in front of him. “Don’t worry. I’m right here,” she reaches out to still his unsteady hands.

Peter immediately moves them out of her reach.

May looks up at him. His eyes are still but barely visible behind his lank curls. She can tell he’s gnawing his bottom lip from the inside. “You okay?” she genuinely asks her own eyes wide behind her glasses.

Peter nods then swallows. He looks purposefully between the phone in her hand and her.

“That was just Tony.”

If Peter recognizes the name, he doesn’t give any indication. May’s heart sinks. “You know, Mr. Stark. _Iron Man_. He’s been really worried about you.”

At the pseudonym, Peter breaks eye contact and the gnawing on his lip intensifies. He slides the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands and shakily brings them closer to his body.

May sits on her heels and thinks about how this boy – _her sweet boy_ – is the currently perfect embodiment of anxiety. “Is there something you want to tell me?” she softly asks.

Without moving, Peter slides his eyes over to meet hers. His mouth opens, but nothing audible comes out. Visibly swallowing, he slowly lowers his hands to his lap and tries again. May can see his Adam’s apple bob with the effort. After a moment, he closes his mouth and looks away, pink lightly coloring his pale cheeks.

“That’s okay,” May gently consoles. “We-”

She’s interrupted by a swift but loud knock on the door.

“God damn that man,” May mutters under her breath as she glares at the offending door. She turns her attention back at Peter. “That’s Mr. Stark. I can make him go away if you want me to.”

Seemingly unaware of May’s offer, Peter stares at the door over the back of the couch. Much to her dismay – and fury – he flinches back when a knock reverberates through the apartment a second time.

May immediately heads towards the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him out of here.”

_“Wait.” _

May stills at the word, her body turning towards Peter in surprise. It was low and raspy – _and nothing like his voice from before _– but it was definitively him. “Peter?” she dares to breathe.

Peter looks back at her with equally wide eyes. “I want…” his voice fades at the end, leaving the word hanging. He swallows a few times then opens his mouth again. “I-“ his voice cracks on the single syllable. He snaps his mouth shut and looks up at her pleadingly.

“Do you want to see him?”

Peter nods.

“Okay…we can do that.”

May opens the door but immediately blocks the gap with her body. Unsurprisingly, Tony Stark stands in front of her, his body a bit too close for comfort.

“I thought I told you not to come,” she greets, even though the fury she felt thirty seconds ago has vanished, leaving her feeling drained.

Looking over the haggard man, for a moment May thinks Tony does not have the right to look as distraught as he does. It is not his child who disappeared. It is not his son on the other side of the door looking physically and mentally destroyed. If the news has a grain of truth, Tony is still travelling around the world, destroying covert Russian bases, and planning his wedding to Pepper Potts. _His_ life still has a purpose. He still has a family to go home to at night. He has no right to show up on her doorstep unshaven, clothes disheveled, eyes holding one last sparkle of hope.

Then she hates herself for the thought. One thing she has learned in her life is grief can be shared.

“You know I couldn’t just…” Tony trails off, lifting his body in an weak attempt to peak over her head.

May closes the door a bit further. “Wherever he was, it…it really messed him up. We-“

“H.Y.D.R.A.” Tony interrupts.

“What?”

Tony finally gives up peaking around her and looks her in the eye. “H.Y.D.R.A. had him. They were doing experiments. Trying to make soldiers like him.”

And May kind of hates him in that moment. Hates him for how easily he can say those words in that order. Like it isn’t the absolute worst thing anyone has ever spoken. How can he come here – with such a bombshell of information – and rattle it off like it’s old news?

May’s eyes narrow. “How long have you known this?”

At least Tony has the decency to look away. If May didn’t know any better she would say the man looked sheepish, if someone like Tony Stark could have such an emotion.

She runs a hand over her face. “Jesus fuckin’ Chr-”

“He’s in there though?”

She can hear the barely restrained hope in the question – like his entire well-being is dependent on her answer. May closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. Clearly the man currently knows more than she does. There’s very little she could probably warn him about. “Just take it slow, okay?”

May opens the door and lets Tony in.

Peter is already standing when Tony enters the living room. He isn’t looking at either of them, but he’s definitely standing taller than he was earlier in the night. She takes it as a good sign that he’s no longer hunched around himself. But it also makes her realize that he’s definitely grown an inch or two in his absence. One final growth spurt around his sixteenth birthday. The thought fills her with unbelievable sadness. She has missed so many important and mundane events, ripped away from her without remorse.

The two now practically the same height, Tony is easily able to catch Peter’s gaze. “Hey there, kiddo,” he greets, the words effortlessly falling off his tongue as if he had practiced them countless times in his head.

Tony makes no move to touch him, and for that, May is immensely grateful.

Peter balls his hands in his sweatshirt sleeves on either side of him. He’s standing straight, every muscle tense, but it does nothing to hide the slight shake in his shoulders. Without warning, his eyes well up with tears. “Mi-“ he swallows around the word. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. It would be incomprehensible if it weren’t for the undeniable movement of his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry....Sorry…” he breathes again and again only pausing to inhale.

This was a mistake. May steps forward to intervene but Tony already has his hands on the boy’s shoulders. She realizes with a hint of jealousy that he doesn’t flinch back. She swallows her feelings down and stands just over Tony’s shoulder.

“Peter, there’s nothing to be sorry for. You hear me?” Tony’s voice is way calmer than May feels.

But Peter’s lips keep repeating themselves.

May approaches on the other side of Peter. “Honey, it’s okay. Tony is saying it’s okay.”

Blessedly, Peter turns at the sound of her voice, his eyes red-rimmed and his mouth finally still. As if realizing himself, he purposefully takes a step backwards to remove himself from Tony’s touch. Tony awkwardly lowers his hands at the absence.

“Are we okay?” May asks.

Peter nods, his overgrown hair bouncing with the movement. But his eyes slide away and he brings a dirty thumb up to his mouth to gnaw on the cuticle.

May sees Tony open his mouth, presumably to ask one of the many questions she’s had swirling around in her mind all evening.

“Let’s all just relax for a moment,” she interrupts. It hasn’t escaped her that Peter has yet to string more than two words together. However, her suggestion seems to have the opposite effect. The moment it leaves her mouth both men seem to tense up even more. 

She’s dismayed to see Peter hunched into himself again, still chewing on the side of his dirt-black thumb.

Peter isn’t talking, and Tony will inevitably say the wrong thing – _not that she’s doing a great job saying the right thing _– and it's clear she needs to be more proactive.

She glances down at Peter’s soiled feet and frowns. “What about a shower?” she proposes.

Peter immediately shakes his head and moves further away from them. If possible, the fear in his posture amplifies.

“Why?” Tony asks with all the tact of bulldozer.

May’s debating whether or not to slap the man, when she hears the low, frail voice.

“Cold.”

May looks back at Peter. Though it appears to take a great effort, he slowly lowers his hand from his mouth. He resolutely looks directly between the two of them when he breathes, “…Hurts.”

May wonders how many times she will forcibly sniff back her tears over the course of the day. “Oh, honey, the shower here won’t hurt, promise.”

“Yeah, kid, you’re bound to feel better once you get all that grime off of you.”

Peter doesn’t move – doesn’t even acknowledge they’ve spoken.

“How about a bath? Would that be better?” May tries.

Peter nods but his face is sullen.

May moves to get the bath started, but when she looks down the hallway it seems so far away, like her apartment has doubled in size over the course of the evening. She hasn’t been more than ten feet away from Peter and never out of eyesight. The idea of leaving him alone now – albeit not _alone _alone – twists her stomach into knots.

She looks helplessly at Tony, question clear in her eyes.

He looks back and nods once. “I’ll just…go get the tap running.”

She mouths a quick ‘thank you’ as he passes. He’s halfway down the hallway when she realizes, “Do you know how to-“

“I’m Tony Stark. I think I can figure out how to work a faucet.”

May cracks a smile at his response. Admittedly, maybe having the man around will be more helpful than she originally assumed.

“C’mon let’s get those dirty clothes off of you.” The two slowly but steadily make their way to the bathroom. Thankfully, Tony leaves the small room as they enter. Once alone, Peter easily slides his sweatshirt off, revealing an equally dirty, white v-neck shirt underneath. May barely takes notice though, more focused on the dozens of scabs and scars littering his arms.

Tony’s voice echoes through her mind –_ ‘experiments’_. Swallowing before bile has a chance to rise, May quickly preoccupies herself with checking the water’s temperature. Satisfied, she shuts off the faucet and turns back around – only to find Peter nude. Being a nurse, May is no stranger to nudity. However, the resigned look and lack of embarrassment Peter – a teenage boy – exhibits sits like a lead stone in her stomach. It takes all of her willpower to shut down the emotional side of her brain for a moment, taking the opportunity to quickly scan his body for injuries. She mentally buries the way his collarbone and ribs protrude and focuses on the visible scars traversing his body. May isn’t sure who to thank when nothing looks broken or inflamed.

“Would you like some help?” she offers, gesturing to the tub.

Peter shakes his head and quietly steps around her.

Once he’s settled, May lowers herself to the bathroom floor as to not hover over him. “Does it feel okay?”

Peter stares down at the water and nods.

“Nothing…hurts?” she dares to ask.

He shakes his head.

May bites her lip suddenly unsure of herself. She recognizes the need for Peter to regain some sense of normalcy, but she also doesn’t want him to feel abandoned. “Would you like me to stay?” she asks, selfishly hoping the affirmative.

Peter pauses, his brow furrowed in contemplation then he shakes his head again.

“Okay.” May rises to her feet and tries to slow her rapid heartbeat at the thought of leaving him. “I’ll leave the door open, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for a response – _doesn’t think she could bear to close the door behind her _– as she leaves the small bathroom.

Her brain fires into overdrive once she reenters the kitchen. Oh God, Peter – _her Peter. _The number of scars – clean and precise and clearly done by some kind of _fucking_ _professional. _She stumbles to the sink, unable to blink away the image of his body. She feels a hand touch her shoulder as she spits up bile.

“Don’t,” she warns with a raised hand. She doesn’t deserve the comfort. Her boy had to go through six months of _torture_ without any comfort. The absolute least she can do is process it on her own.

May spits a few more times then quickly rinses out her mouth. She turns to find Tony sitting at the kitchen table. He’s leaning backwards in the chair as if to look completely at ease, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

“This is not how I was expecting today to go,” Tony relents.

Before he can say anything else, May quickly puts a finger to her lips, jabs a thumb in Peter’s direction then touches her ear.

“Oh right,” he mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

May moves to sit across from him. She’s thankful for a chance to gather her thoughts. The entire night has been a whirlwind of emotions, and she’s starting to feel a bit untethered.

Tony only pauses for a moment before reaching towards the cluttered countertop, grabbing a torn envelope and pen. May sighs – clearly Tony was not a man of inaction. He quickly writes something then passes it to her.

_The med bay is ready. Happy is on his way over. We can take him there once he’s done._

May frowns at the words then quickly reaches across the table to grab the pen. _Absolutely NOT, _she writes, underlining it twice for good measure.

Tony raises his eyebrows at that. _He needs to get checked out._

_Yes, and I’m a nurse._

_And he’s enhanced. _

_He’s also my nephew. He will be staying here with me. _May drops the pen and folds her arms, leaving no room for argument.

Tony leans over and whispers, “You need to think about what’s best for Peter.”

May rests her arms on the table and leans in, “That’s exactly what I’m doing. He came here. He’s comfortable _here._”

“He will be safer at the compound. They know his identity. He is compromised.”

May opens her mouth for a rebuttal but then quickly snaps it shut. Refusing to break eye contact, she bites the inside of her cheek while she considers her options. _Damn it all to hell. _“You’re going to make a wing of that building as welcoming and cozy as possible. None of the typical Stark opulence, you got it?”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

“You said _experiments._ He has spent the past six months in some kind of medical facility. I’m not–“

The sound of footsteps running across the hallway abruptly interrupts her.

May leaps up from her chair. “Shit. _Shit._” She quickly runs towards the sounds of the steps, knowing Tony is close behind. She rushes into Peter’s room, only to find him already dressed in sweatpants and frantically tugging on a shirt. Without thought, May grabs his shoulders in an attempt to still him.

Peter pushes her away with surprising strength, leaving her sprawling on the floor. It takes a moment for May to regain her wits, but when she does she finds Peter standing above her, looking pale and shaken.

“I-I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have – “ His inhale echoes through the room like metal scraping against metal.

Tony grasps Peter’s shoulders. “Peter, look at me,” he tries. May is thankful to see the red gleam of Tony’s gauntlets. Peter immediately fights him but his movements are panicked and frenzied and – _mercifully_ – unsuccessful.

“I-I shouldn’t have come.” It comes out breathy and squeaky and barely comprehensible, but the words still break May’s heart.

Another inhale shudders through his lungs.

“Look at me!”

It honestly isn’t that loud, definitely not a shout, but his voice still explodes in the room catching both her and Peter by surprise.

Peter immediately stills, arms dead at his sides, and looks at the man. If it wasn’t for the tragically blank look in his eyes, May would probably be able to feel a bit of hope instead of the dread and worry that encompasses her body.

“You’re okay.”

Unlike May, it’s not a question when Tony says it. It’s a command.

Peter shakily exhales and sets his jaw, his gaze hardening. It’s the closest she’s seen to defiance since he’s arrived. “Not safe,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He gestures wildly to May on the floor, “Not _safe.” _

Oh _God_, he’s still scared of her. She feels bile rise in her throat again. She thought – _she thought _– How has she misread this entire evening? May shrinks backwards slightly, trying to look less intimidating.

Luckily, Tony remains the voice of reason. “It’s okay. We’ll get you somewhere safe. You just need to stay with me.”

May silently agrees. It will irrevocably destroy her. Tears are already falling at the thought. But Peter needs to feel safe – _protected _– and if she’s not part of that equation, she will voluntarily remove herself from his life.

Peter looks back at her desperately, tears matching her own.

Tony places a hand on his shoulder. “May’s coming with us. Nothing’s going to happen to her. I promise.”

Peter visibly calms and nods.

May blinks back her surprise, her brain tripping over itself in its attempt to catch up. Peter’s attempt to run was for _her _safety, not his own. _Dear God, this boy. _After everything, months of – her brain skips over the word – he’s still worried about her.

May brings up a hand to her mouth and tries to swallow her tears.

-:-

After Tony explains to Peter where they were going and why, May guides Peter into the backseat of a town car, sliding in after him. She hears the trunk close behind them, their belongings inside.

A man May only met a few times before takes a seat behind the wheel. “Hey Pete,” he greets. “It’s good to see you again.”

Peter furrows his brow back at him but nods once, his damp hair plastered to his forehead. May fingers itch with the desire to brush the strands out of his face, but she forces herself still.

The man frowns slightly at the lack of response. Luckily, Tony taps his shoulder with his knuckle and he starts the engine.

May tries her hardest to not stare at Peter during the long drive, but she can’t stop herself from casting sidelong glances. Once they reach the highway, Peter rests his head on the window and closes his eyes. May goes back to looking out her own window, her brain running rampant.

God, there are so many things to do. Set up a new home. A new norm. Get a routine in place. Buy groceries. Find out what food Peter still likes. Get a cover story. Contact the local police. Find a therapist. Find a _damn good _therapist. Find out what else Tony knows – _decide if she really wants to know what else Tony knows_.

Amidst the thoughts swirling around, May feels a warm weight on her shoulder. She glances down to see Peter sound asleep, his head resting on her arm. She risks wrapping a loose arm around his torso, pleased when he doesn’t move.

She leans down and whispers into his damp hair, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”


	3. The First Week

True to Tony’s word, within twenty-four hours of their arrival, one small wing of the compound had been retrofitted with run-of-the-mill appliances and cozy furniture. May even takes the time to notice the printed curtains surrounding every large ceiling to floor window and appreciates the small touch. When she finds a group of workers converting an attached room into a dining room, she gently kicks them out and lets Tony know that the current space is more than enough. Complete with a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, laundry room and office, it’s already more than triple the size of their apartment.

Peter sleeps most of the first day – so completely dead-to-the-world that even the hammers and drills don’t wake him. That night, she sleeps in his room on the floor next to him, unable to leave him in the unfamiliar space.

During the following few days, Peter appears to be perfectly content doing whatever she is – always wordlessly agreeing when she asks. Occasionally, she points out his laptop, dusty and cold in the corner, but Peter always shrugs, never giving it a second glance. While May is overwhelmingly grateful for his company – it was so excruciatingly lonely those six months without him – she does want to instill some autonomy back into his life.

She unpacks, making a point to comment on where she is putting everything; even though Peter’s right behind her and never acknowledges that he’s heard her. Afterwards, she orders take-out and makes a grocery list, so they don’t get too spoiled on fatty restaurant food.

Tony unexpectedly arrives thirty minutes later, with definitely more food than she ordered. “Have you guys tried the moo shu pork? It’s out of this world.” He casually opens up the containers and slides them across the kitchen table.

“Tony, would you like to join us?” she asks only slightly sarcastically, her smile giving her away.

“Well, since you asked.” He winks at her as he pats the chair next to him for Peter to sit.

Peter easily follows, brushing a strand of over-long hair out of his face. At least now it is clean and well-kept.

Tony looks down at Peter’s head, eyes never lingering for too long. “We gotta do something about that. People are going to start thinking Sasquatch is wandering the halls.”

May empties a pile of food onto her plate. “Yeah, it’s been on our to-do list. Do you know someone?”

“I can send him here first thing tomorrow. Get you looking spic and span.” Tony casually moves to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder but Peter slides his body to the side before it can land.

May watches as Tony lets his hand fall. The resistance to physical comfort seems to hurt Tony more than her. While it bothers May – deeply troubles her that someone has hurt her boy so badly – she and Peter have always had other methods to convey their feelings. After years of living together, the two are so engrained in each other, they can practically communicate telepathically. 

Even now, with Peter’s loosely clenched fists and slightly hunched back, she knows there’s something wrong. “How does that sound, Peter…Haircut tomorrow morning?”

Unsurprisingly, Peter shakes his head. He swallows once before whispering, “You…” His throat seizes around the word, Adam’s apple bobbing. May patiently waits. She’s found over the past few days that sometimes more words will follow if given the opportunity. True to form, Peter looks up at her and asks, “Can you?”

“You want me to cut your hair?” May tries to hide her surprise at the request. She hasn’t cut Peter’s hair since the last debacle right before his first day of third grade. “Sure, honey, I can give it my best shot.”

Eyes back on his plate, Peter nods and then tentatively takes his first bite of food.

“Let’s dig in,” Tony concurs, taking his own heaping bite.

-:-

With some subtle encouragement, Tony goes back to his own quarters after dinner. After helping clean the kitchen, Peter silently follows May to the living room to watch some mindless TV. Halfway through the first show, May glances over at Peter on the opposite end of the couch to find him lightly dozing.

May reaches across and places a gentle hand on his knee, “Peter.”

Remorse hits her when Peter instantaneously startles awake – breath quick and eyes wide. She removes her hand and leans back, giving him the space to gather his bearings. When his eyes finally lock on hers she softly states, “I was thinking about going to bed.”

Peter nods in return already pushing himself to his feet. The two walk down the hallway where their rooms are situated directly across from each other. Reaching the doors, his hand blindly reaches out and grabs hers. Peter’s eyes remain trained on his feet. May patiently watches as Peter’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he visibly swallows. Pink rising to his cheeks, Peter brings wide eyes to meet hers.

“I can stay in your room again tonight…if you want,” May offers. She doesn’t want to assume – _doesn’t want to hinder his recovery _– but the last three nights she’s slept next to Peter.

Peter quickly nods, his relief palpable.

-:-

The next morning, May and Peter fall into their easy routine. She’s making coffee while he pours cereal and milk into two bowls. As much as she misses Peter’s constant chatter– would give_ anything_ to get it back–she finds herself enjoying their mutual silence in the easy calm of the morning. 

Unfortunately, they are interrupted by two workers carrying a bed frame down their hallway.

May quickly follows, pausing in the doorway. “Hey guys, do you mind knocking next time?” she politely requests. She knows the building is a place of important – _world-changing _– business, but for the time being it is also their home.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” both workers respond before turning the frame into Peter’s room.

May turns at the sound of more footsteps. Two more workers follow with a mattress. “So, Tony planning on moving in?” she asks, only half-joking. It hasn’t escaped her notice that the man’s random ‘check-ins’ are happening with increasing frequency.

“Nah, boss figured if you guys are sharing a room, might as well be comfortable,” one worker casually answers as he passes her with the mattress.

At the man’s words, something heavy sits in the pit of her stomach. She can’t quite place a finger on it but it feels like an emotion halfway between dread and fury. She looks back at Peter, who is frozen at the kitchen table with a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

-:-

“Are you spying on us?!” The pretense of calm vanishes when May catches sight of Tony idly working in his workshop.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., a bit of warning next time?”

_“Yes, boss.”_

May distrust of the man burns so deep she doesn’t even have the brain-power to process the disembodied voice.

Tony spins in his seat to face her head-on. “The entire compound is equipped with security features.”

“Cut the bullshit. Are you spying on us?”

“No, that would be…weird,” he states as if the accusation offends him.

May places her hands on her hips. “Then how the hell do you know that Peter and I are sleeping in the same room.”

“Because the entire compound is equipped with security features,” Tony tiredly repeats.

May looks over the man. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night, his hair is mussed, and his goatee is unshaven. “Disable it.”

“Disable the features that are set up for security – a.k.a. Peter’s _safety._”

May’s eyes narrow. This man – this petulant child of a man – dares to bring Peter’s well-being into the conversation. It is the goddamn Avengers compound, one of the most secure buildings in the world. A few additional cameras were as unnecessary as placing a sheet of plastic over a bullet proof window. “Disable the fucking cameras. The whole point to the renovations was to make it feel like home. It hardly feels like a home when there are hidden cameras everywhere.”

Tony slightly dips his head and looks up at her like he's placating a child. “They’re hardly hidden.”

May feels her fury reignite. “Disable. Them. Now.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., bring up the surveillance on the Parker wing.”

May bites her tongue around the word ‘surveillance’. A hologram grid of nine different locations appears. She can easily recognize each image as part of their wing.

“One moment,” Tony sighs as he quickly types a code appearing at the bottom of the grid.

He’s only a few keystrokes in when one of the screens goes dark. Immediately afterwards another follows. Tony looks up at the two blank boxes where the kitchen used to be. “…Weird.”

“No, this is exactly what I wanted.” May feels satisfied that at least one of their rooms is away from Stark’s prying eyes.

A third image disappears.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one doing it.”

May looks at Tony just as the fourth feed shuts down. Someone’s hacking them. Peter’s alone and _someone’s hacking them. _

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., who is disabling the cameras?”

May is already turning to rush out of the room.

_“Boss, it would appear Mr. Parker is.” _

May stops in her tracks and turns back just in time to see another box cut to black. Suddenly her dread morphs into overwhelming relief, leaving her heart still and her knees shaky.

She silently watches as each feed darkens. May feels pride blossom through her chest when there’s nothing left but the light blue tinge of a blank hologram.

-:-

After a congratulations and a shaky high five, Peter is seated in front of her, sheet around his shoulders, ready for his long overdue haircut.

May easily slides a comb through the damp hair. She is excruciatingly nervous. She is not a beautician. She has no experience with cutting anyone’s hair over the age of eight. While Peter washed his hair, she watched a few youtube videos – thankfully something that has dramatically increased in popularity since her last miserably failed attempt.

Peter appears to be much calmer than her, head tipped slightly forward and hands lightly clutching each armrest. May bends down and starts by his right temple, clipping a long strand off with an audible _snip_. Holding her breath, May continues snipping away until there is a small pile of hair at her feet.

She leans back a bit to look at her handiwork when she notices Peter’s shoulders trembling. Brow furrowed, she peaks over, her heart sinking when she sees tears drip down his cheeks. “Peter.” She kneels down in front of him, dismayed to find his eyes clenched and the armrests splintering from his clenched hands. “Peter,” she tries again. Despite her instinctual desire to touch him, she carefully keeps her hands still in front of her.

Peter opens his eyes only to immediately lock on the hands and scissors in front of him. A quick inhale rattles his lungs and he shoves the chair back. Eyes wide and unseeing, he frantically reaches out to the wall behind him. Despite how uncoordinated his movements are, he’s in the corner of the ceiling before May can catch a breath.

“Peter. It’s okay, Peter.” May calls from below. “It’s just me.” But behind his trembling limbs, Peter seems completely lost. May desperately tries to reach him a few more times before she’s interrupted.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. said Peter was in distress and Tony’s away, so…”

May looks over to see Pepper Potts entering the kitchen. May has only seen her in passing once or twice, but she looks as prim and proper as she does on the news. May is silently relieved when Pepper inherently follows her gaze to the corner of the ceiling.

“Oh…” Pepper doesn’t sound irritated or distraught – just saddened by the turn of events.

“I-I don’t know what happened,” May attempts to explain. “I was just giving him a haircut –“

“Do you think it could be the scissors?”

The question comes out genuine but May feels the accusation like a burn. She looks down at the scissors in her hand, light easily reflecting off of the blade. “Oh my god, I’m such an idiot!” May quickly tosses the scissors on the kitchen table and throws some discarded paper on top of them. “Peter, they’re gone now. I promise.”

Peter remains in the corner, eyes wide and unfocused, his shaky breaths audible despite the distance between them.

May’s face crumples at the sight. “How could I be so _stupid_?” she mutters.

“Don’t worry. By the time I had Tony’s triggers figured out, he self-medicated himself to the bare bones of functionality with parties and alcohol.” The sentence sounds awful – _should be tragic_ – but Pepper states it as if she’s talking about the weather.

“That doesn’t sound…” May trails off. Pepper has been nothing but kind and helpful, and it isn’t her place to judge.

Pepper simply hums her agreement. “Starks were never known for their coping skills.” She takes a step forward towards Peter. “Hey, Peter. Do you remember me?” She pauses a moment even though both she and May know an audible answer is unlikely. “It’s Ms. Potts.”

Peter blinks once, then twice, he eyes slowly sliding over to where Pepper is standing. “Um…hi,” he breathes, his voice catching on the vowels.

“Hi Peter, it’s good to see you again. Do you think you can come down?”

Pink flushes Peter’s cheeks as he slowly lowers himself to the ground. He stands in front of the woman, his head down, curtain of damp hair obscuring his features.

“I’m glad you made it back home,” Pepper states with a tilt of the head. Hands still and her smile relaxed, she is the complete antithesis to how May is feeling.

Peter nods in response.

“Let’s just take a break right now. Okay, honey?” May offers from behind the taller woman.

Peter hunches his shoulders and frowns, clearly disappointed in himself. May isn’t sure what else to say so silence hangs in the air for a moment.

“How about I cut your hair and, May, you can talk to him?” Pepper suggests.

To May’s surprise, Peter looks up and nods.

Pepper slyly grabs the scissors as May gets Peter settled and sits across from him in a separate chair.

“Would you like to hold my hand?” May suggests with her palm turned upward. Peter glances to the broken armrest beside him and miserably shakes his head. “How about I just lay my hands right here?” She the places her hands gently over his knees and rubs one lightly. “Is that okay?” Peter wordlessly stares at the hands and nods.

A quick snips alerts both of them to Pepper’s cutting. Peter flinches but keeps his gaze on her hands. May notices him looking directly at her wedding band.

“Did I ever tell you how Ben proposed?” Thinking back, she honestly thinks she never did. Young boys didn’t tend to ask about past engagements and proposals were never celebrated like anniversaries.

Peter confirms the thought with the shake of his head.

“Ben was so eager, he was a couple years older than me, you know. But I wanted to wait. One thing my mother instilled in me was to make sure I could support myself before tying myself to a man.” She vaguely recalled her mom’s sage advice. Much later, when she found out her aunt had been trapped in an abusive marriage for years due to lack of financial support, she realized the fear behind the words of wisdom. “Then on my graduation day, as I stood in my cap and gown with a freshly printed degree, he got down on one knee.” May looked down at the ring and smiled. “I wasn’t too surprised. I had helped him pick out the ring, but it is still one of the happiest moments of my life.” She moves her thumb to play with the ring so the diamond catches the light.

May isn’t surprised when she finds Peter’s eyes red-rimmed. Hers likely look the same. Ben is a slowly healing wound – only discussed in the briefest of moments as to not drown the grief surrounding his legacy.

“He’d be really proud of you.” She swallows to keep the tears out of her soft voice. “I know I am.”

Peter bites his lip and stays silent.

Pepper finishes shortly after that. May reaches around to grab the mirror on the table and holds it up for Peter to see.

Peter looks at the mirror for a long moment and then smiles. It’s tentative and watery but, much to May’s delight, it’s a true, genuine smile.

-:-

“Karen.”

May immediately wakes to the voice. It’s strong and confident and nothing like what Peter’s voice sounds like during the day. If May didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that she’d wake to a morning six months ago, safe in their apartment – completely naïve and oblivious to the power of H.Y.D.R.A.

She slides to the edge of her bed and stares at Peter across the small gap.

“Act…” Peter lazily rolls to face her, eyes closed and relaxed. “Activate…shooters.”

May is half tempted to wake him in her surprise and relief at the sound of his voice. But Peter seems calm and content and there’s nothing that could make May take that away from him.

“…criminals…” There’s a long pause – long enough that May thinks that may be the end of it. But Peter rolls his head and bluntly states, “…so dumb.”

May snorts out a laugh before the implications catch up to her.

Whatever is going on with Peter’s voice isn’t physical – it’s psychological.

-:-

Tony invites Peter to work with him in his lab. May hates the idea – selfishly hates that thought of him being so far from her. But Peter nods, and May lets him go. A few hours later he returns, eyes bright and more engaged than they have been all week.

He easily sits on the other side of the couch from her. May places the book she wasn’t really reading – couldn’t seem to get her mind to focus on a page long enough – on the table. “How was it?” she ventures, even though she’s fully expecting a shrug in response.

Peter lifts his feet to the couch and shifts so he’s facing her. His voice is reedy and soft but calm. “Good. Really good.”

It isn’t much, but it’s a start.

-:-

Unexpectedly, F.R.I.D.A.Y. calls May down to Tony’s lab the next day. A familiar uneasiness rises at the thought of leaving Peter alone, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. is insistent.

As insistent as a robot can be, May supposes.

Upon seeing her enter his lab, Tony slides over in his rolling stool and pulls a second one next to him. “Pop a squat. I think you should see this.”

May sits down in front of a large hologram screen. It’s larger than her TV, but more modest than she would expect from the billionaire. She looks questioningly at the blank screen and then back at Tony.

“Over a week ago we took down a H.Y.D.R.A. base. I was sure – positive – that we would find Peter there. All signs pointed to it.” He swipes his hand upward to bring up a video. The screen is still dark but a pale play arrow now illuminates the room.

The mention of H.Y.D.R.A leaves a sinking feeling in her stomach. Nothing good can come from any conversation surrounding them. “Tony, what is this?” she asks the trepidation clear in her voice.

He continues on, oblivious to her growing unease. “Obviously, we didn’t. Which didn’t make sense. But nothing about that mission made sense. The assholes we expected to be there were there, but not Peter. The files were all perfectly intact, but the video feed was all wonky. It drove me nuts for days. And then you called.” His hands move animatedly as he talks, words almost tripping over one another. In a brief moment, she can see Peter in the man.

“What does-“

Tony cuts her off again. “You see we gathered all this information. Terabytes of it. It takes time to sort through all of that.”

She hides her shaking hands between her knees. “Tony!”

His mouth snaps closed and he looks at her surprised. She supposes she’s one of very few in his life who dares to interrupt him.

“Can you _please _get to the point?” her voice lightly cracks at the request.

Tony nods once then looks back at the screen. “Natasha fixed the feed then spliced this together.”

He says the woman’s name like May should know who she is – and maybe she should – but no one comes to mind.

Tony taps the pale arrow and the screen blinks to life. Even though the image is a hologram, it has a better picture quality than any of May’s devices. It’s pristine and clear and _devastating_ – a boy wearing hospital scrubs is sitting on a cot in the middle of a white, barren room. It’s Peter –_she immediately knows it’s Peter _– but her brain stutters and grinds to a halt, refusing to accept it.

“Is…this…?”

“Just watch.”

A few seconds pass and then without warning, sirens blare. She would think it’s coming from the compound if it wasn’t for the screen now flashing red. She watches as Peter jumps back at the sound and then slowly – _ever so cautiously _– approaches the door. He stands in front of it and then, with a shaking hand, reaches out and touches it.

Both she and Peter blink with surprise when the door opens just a crack. Peter quickly retracts his hand and pauses in front of the gap. May holds her breath, but when Peter doesn’t move she breathes, “Run. Just run.” She feels silly, she knows it’s superfluous – this happened over a week ago – but she can’t stop herself.

After another prolonged moment, Peter leans forward to look through the gap then looks directly at the camera. Without hesitation, he leaps up, immediately disappearing off-screen, and a few seconds later the feed stutters out.

The back of May’s neck tingles with déjà vu.

The video jumps to another feed of a hallway, which immediately cuts to black as well. The video continues to jump to various locations, and one by one, they all disappear as quickly as they arrive. Once or twice she thinks she catches a sleeve or foot in the corner, but it is never long enough to substantiate.

When Tony speaks, the awe is apparent in his voice. “Peter did it. He got away. No one could follow him because no one knew. Us included.”

But May is already jumping to her own conclusions. “Tony…where is this base?”

“Hidden in the Rockies,” he easily replies, blatantly unaware of May’s increasing turmoil.

May thinks back to Peter showing up in their apartment with dirt-black feet and torn clothes. _How the f- _She brings a shaky hand up to her mouth and tries to breathe around her disbelief. “Jesus…”

Tony finally catches on to her distress and spins her chair to face him. “No, May. This is good. This is good news.”

May looks back, bewildered.

“We may have unlocked the door, but Peter got himself out. Those cameras are state of the art. I don’t know how, but Peter must have studied the one in his room without them knowing.” He gestures pointedly at the blank feed. “Peter had his own role to play in his rescue. That may not mean much to him now. It may not mean much to him for a while. But it will, _I promise_.”

May is about to ask how he can be so confident but then quickly remembers his own very publicized escape from Afghanistan. It’s so easy to forget sometimes that this overly confident man in front of her has his own buried trauma.

May looks back at the screen, now black. “Thank you, Tony, for…showing that to me.”

“Yeah, no worries, May. You know, we are on the same side,” Tony smiles.

May attempts a smile in return. “I know.”


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is in Peter's POV so it's a bit different than the other chapters. I realized I needed to give some context to Peter's recovery and this is an attempt at that. Takes place before the rest of the story. It's simply an interlude so I upped the chapter count to 6. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Warnings: Torture and human experimentation mentioned. Please tread carefully. If this bothers you, you can skip this chapter as it does not affect the rest of the story.

First, Peter fights.

He fights against the throng of masked men who ambush him in an alley. He fights against the sedative working its way through his system. He fights against the chains, bolting him to the floor. He fights so hard he kicks a man square in the chest, leading to another round of sedatives.

He fights against unconsciousness until he finds himself in a stark, white room, his Spider-Man suit replaced with white scrubs. Then, he pounds against the metal door until his hands are purple with bruises.

He fights when they bring him to an examination room the first time. He pushes as cold hands grab him and strip the scrubs from his body. The metal cuffs around his wrists and feet won’t budge, but he still pulls against them until his muscles strain and sweat drips down his face.

He fights the guards even though he’s learned a long time ago that it is futile and pointless. He knows it will lead to nothing but pain. But everything leads to pain anyway, so he might as well fight to get some sense of autonomy back in his life, no matter how fleeting it may be.

He fights against the guards, the doctors, the walls, the doors, once even pounding his cot against the wall until it was nothing but a mangled pile of bars and springs. He sleeps on the floor for a while after that.

He continues to fight when hands grab him and pull him even though he’s certain an infinity has passed and he isn’t even quite sure what he is fighting for anymore.

Then, one day, he’s slammed against a metal table. He bucks against the strong hands, blinking away the pain, until he catches sight of a photograph under his nose. It’s a candid shot of Aunt May, sitting unaware in their living room.

Tears surge up at the sight of her. It has already been so long – and he is so constantly miserable – that he can’t stop the tears as they stream down his face. He stills his body, drinking in every detail he can from the picture before it is inevitably ripped away.

“Stop fighting” is grumbled in his ear as a man slides the picture closer to his face. The threat is clear.

So Peter stops.

-:-

Peter screams.

He screams against the guards who drag him from place to place. He screams against the doctors as the scalpels slice into his skin. He screams to nobody, calling for help in the darkness of his room.

He screams until his voice gives out leaving only breathless whimpers and tight vocal cords. Sometimes he gets a reprieve shortly after, giving his body enough time to heal until he’s dragged out again and can scream through the pain once more.

Often his spidey sense joins in, screaming in a sick and twisted harmony. It blares against the back of his neck, almost like a physical presence that he can’t escape from. He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the way it crawls up and down his spine, constantly warning him of the danger right in front of his face. It doesn’t take long for Peter to hate it. Hate the way it is constant and thrumming while he is alone in his room only to become sharp and blaring when he’s strapped to the examination table, piercing through his body before the scalpels even have a chance.

Peter’s body hums with the fact that this sixth sense that has saved his life so many times before may ultimately end up being his demise.

-:-

Peter talks.

He talks mostly because he knows they hate it. He can see them tense with displeasure every time he gives word to his thoughts. No one ever responds, only cutting deeper and slower to show their frustration. He talks his way through the pain, until it becomes too unbearable, but then talks his way through the recovery.

Sometimes he talks about his life before, if only to hear about what was once his reality – to give voice to something that seems like distant memory in the best of moments and a crazed hallucination in the worst. He never states any specific names, wouldn’t dare risk anyone else, no matter how real or fake they may seem. He talks about a ‘friend’ here and a ‘crush’ there. Maybe a ‘teacher’ or a ‘mentor’ gets thrown in the mix.

The only person he names is Uncle Ben. Mostly because Uncle Ben is safe in another realm who may be able to break through this one and give him some sort of reprieve. In his darkest moments, he pleads to his uncle, tears and blood coating his voice until his consciousness dies away, leaving only a bitter pit of shame in his stomach the next morning.

Peter talks to his captors. They never respond. At most they grumble back in a language that sounds vaguely Eastern European – throaty and consonant-heavy. He likes displeasing them, relishes it in a way that gives him some fleeting sense of joy.

They try gagging him once or twice, but he simply talks through it, words garbled and incoherent but still his own.

“You know, there are better ways to take out your frustration than on one kid,” he comments as they slice off the pads of his fingers.

“I bet you can make a mean borsch,” he remarks as they cut through his arm to examine his muscles.

Luckily they have some type of altered anesthetic for the more invasive surgeries. It doesn’t stop him from occasionally waking up to see them examining some part of his innards. “Liver? Kidney? Either way, looks pretty healthy,” he mumbles before they up his dose.

Sometimes he can feel his mind and body disconnect. The pain is muted while his body is bathed in a warm glow. Even as his mind wanders to simpler times, his voice filters in and out, rambling without thought.

“Did your wife leave you? Is that why you’re so angry and awful?” he asks. The doctor’s grip on the scalpel tightens, giving Peter the encouragement to continue. “Maybe a husband? No judgment here.”

The doctor sets his jaw.

“You know, this is the 21st century. I’m not sure what backwards thinking there is in your country…Russia, right? Maybe Ukraine?” His mind starts drifting away, a calm rushing through his body as his mouth continues to move on its own. “Where I’m from, we’re all accepted. Or at least that’s the direction we’re headed. Maybe once you’re done ruining my life you’d like to come with me and see what America’s all-“

Peter doesn’t see the fist coming.

Peter isn’t sure when or how he wakes. One moment he’s on the table, the next a piercing bright light fills his vision as sirens blare through his ears. He jerks his head to escape it, but it follows him wherever he goes. He tries to bring up his hands to block out the light, but they are trapped behind him in unyielding cuffs.

The blaring seems to increase with each movement. He attempts to scream it away, drown it out somewhere, but his mouth is filled with metal, his breath trapped behind it. He chokes around it, unable to breathe past it. For a moment, he is certain he is going to die, chest heaving and shuttering as his breath remains trapped in his throat. Eventually, he coughs his way through it, his body convulsing against the floor, drool dribbling down his chin. After that, each breath he takes is measured, even as his body twitches against the lights and sirens.

He tries to disengage his mind again, set it adrift away from the hellscape he’s woken up into. But the sirens manifest into a psychical entity and throw his fleeting form back into his unwilling body.

He tries thinking about his friends and family, a place where he felt warm and safe, but the lights burn them away, the screeching echoing their pain as they disappear.

He tries counting the seconds but time quickly becomes indiscernible. It was always an abstract concept in this place without clocks or windows. But now, time has become a completely foreign concept, as faraway as whatever reality lies beyond his trapped psyche.

Distantly, he becomes aware of a dull thud in time with a blunt pain in the side of his head. It’s repetitive and unending, his body swaying with the movement. He focuses on that, beyond the sirens and the lights, until he feels dampness in his hair.

Suddenly the sirens stop, but the lights remain.

He pauses a moment, holding his breath.

“No more talking.” The voice is low and distorted behind the dull ringing from deep within his ears.

He frantically nods.

Blessedly, he’s plunged into darkness.

Peter doesn’t talk after that.

-:-

Peter listens.

_Паук. _They say as they pull him from the shower.

_Паук. _They say as they guide him to the table.

_Паук._ They say as they up the speed on the treadmill he is attached to.

_Паук. _They say as they place the oxygen mask on his face.

_Паук. Паук. Паук._

_Peter. Peter. Peter._ He can only think in response.

-:-

Peter schemes.

Early on in his capture, he is able to overpower the two guards dragging him from his room. He quickly leaps to the ceiling and scrambles down the hall towards a doorway, praying for an exit in his frantic mind.

He quickly opens the door to the sight of six guards already prepared for him with cattle prods. Electricity courses through him as he falls from the ceiling in a heap.

Peter opens his eyes to a doctor with a crooked nose and gray hair.

The man reaches down and grabs Peter’s hair, jerking his head towards the camera located on a far wall.

“Don’t you see, little паук, there’s no escape here.”

Peter shakily swallows around the blood quickly filling his mouth from his bit tongue.

Shortly afterward, Peter destroys his bed in what seems to be a fit of rage. He sleeps on the floor for a while after that.

...with a small piece of metal from the spring of his mattress safely hidden in the seam of his blanket.

-:-

Peter waits.

He waits on the floor in the corner. He waits on the ceiling in the center of his room. He waits beside the camera, where the lens can only capture part of his leg. He rotates through different spots, nursing his slowly healing body throughout the night.

He waits until he gets a bed again, and even then he only sleeps in the bed occasionally, his fingers idly playing with the edge of the blanket where the metal spring is hidden.

Then he waits a little while longer, his body thrumming with anticipation.

One night, after the lights have been turned off for a decent period of time, Peter tears through the poorly reconstructed seam and slides the spring in the palm of his hand.

Casually, though his body aches from the tortures it had been put through only hours before, he climbs towards the ceiling and takes his spot next to the camera. He bends the spring and then slowly unscrews the casing.

Peter silently examines the wiring, before replacing the casing and leaving his makeshift screwdriver on top of the oscillating camera.

Peter remains on the ceiling until the lights come on to signal a new day.

And then he waits a few more days to do the same routine again.

-:-

Peter forgets.

It starts with small things, non-consequential things.

He can’t remember his locker combination. He used the combination multiple times a day for the entire school year, and now he can’t remember a single number from it. It bothers him, but he’s certain the office can remind him when he goes back to Midtown.

He remembers Ned but he forgets Ned’s last name. One night he practically pulls his hair out trying to remember. It starts with an ‘L’. He’s almost certain it starts with an ‘L’. But ‘Lawrence’ is the only name that comes to mind and he’s certain it’s not that. It’s too long. Ned’s name is shorter.

It shouldn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t matter in the slightest. But Peter feels like such a shitty friend. Who forgets their best friend’s last name? They’ve been friends for years and it slipped from Peter’s mind without him even noticing until it was too late. How on earth is he ever going to explain to Ned that he can’t remember his name?

He forgets his school schedule, and the subway routes he needs to get there.

He forgets how many different types of webshooters his suit has.

Then he forgets how he defeated the Vulture.

This one bothers him for a while. Unlike the other lapses, this is an event, not a fact. A life-changing event that should have stayed with him until his grave. He remembers driving a car and lifting a building. Or did he lift a building? That seems like a pretty impossible thing to do. Maybe he just climbed out from under the rubble. There was something with a plane. Or was it something with a parachute? He thinks he remembers getting burned, but he’s not sure from what.

He spends days trying to piece everything back together. He thinks about it while he’s lying on the ceiling. Recalls the event time and time again while they cut into soles of his feet. Tries to make a coherent storyline while they scrub the grime off of him in the shower.

It never does come fully back together. Eventually, he gives up and tries to cling onto what he does remember.

He remembers that his aunt is a nurse but forgets what hospital she works at.

He remembers how his Uncle Ben died but forgets where he was going right beforehand.

He remembers the battle in Germany but he forgets how he met Tony Stark.

He remembers it’s important but forgets why some evenings he goes up to the ceiling and gently pries apart the casing of the camera. Never taking out the wires. Never altering anything. Just studying its configuration before putting it back together. Sometimes he forgets to examine it. He simply removes the casing and then immediately replaces it, giving him an inexplicable rush of relief to know he still can.

Then one day, while sirens blare and lights flash, Peter remembers.


	5. The First Month

In some type of awful cosmic coincidence, May and Peter’s nightmares start around the same time.

May usually wakes from hers feeling shaky and lost, blinking against the unfamiliar room. Expecting the water stained ceiling from their Queens apartment, it always takes a moment to reorient herself. She finds rolling to the side to gaze at Peter from across the room helps. The sight of him washes away the last remnants of her nightmares desperately clinging to the strands of her consciousness. She’s thankful she's always been a fairly light sleeper, typically awaking before the horrifying images can sink their claws in too deep.

Unfortunately, Peter’s sleep has become just as disturbed as her own. With increasing frequency, she turns to the sight of him tense and trembling, gleaming with sweat even in the darkness. Every time, May pads across the room and gently shakes him awake with a hand on his shoulder. As much as she wants Peter to get a full night’s rest, she cannot bear to leave him in the hands of H.Y.D.R.A., even in sleep.

Peter always startles awake at the touch, his breath caught in his throat. After the first few times, May can easily expect it before it happens, but the sight never stops breaking her heart. She then leans back to allow Peter to choose what comfort he would like her to provide.

Sometimes, Peter wraps his arms tight around her. She grips the back of his shirt in return, bringing him fully in her arms and welcoming his warmth. Usually, Peter cries silently, her damp shoulder giving away the only sign of his distress. Once or twice broken apologies fill her ears, breathy and tenuous, spoken without thought in between gasps for air. May simply holds him tighter and whispers back reassurances until his voice fades away.

Other times he fumbles his way to the corner, where his bed meets the wall, his limbs shaky and uncoordinated. He gathers his arms close to him, his fingers bent and wretched as they grip onto his biceps. Even though his eyes are clamped tight, he shrugs off any attempt at comfort, often before her hand even has a chance to land. So she keeps her distance and talks her way through it, her voice strong in the quiet room.

The best nights are when Peter simply slides over, the request unasked. May enters the bed next to him. His breath remains shaky and his eyes remain wet, but usually he falls back asleep within minutes.

The lack of consistent sleep has left Peter wary and her cranky. She buries it down deep around Peter only for it to flare up in moments of solitude or around some poor, unsuspecting soul, frequently Tony. Luckily, the man has taken it in stride.

But every day is a new day, so she attempts to get them to bed at a decent hour, especially after watching Peter doze over their reheated turkey chili. She barely feels sleep claim her as her head hits the pillow.

In the distance, Peter’s voice is calling for her – not calling,_ screaming. _It’s high pitched and frantic and absolutely filled with terror.

_May! Help! _

May turns around to see their apartment. There’s an empty bedroom with an open window. She rushes to it, but only the night sky greets her.

Peter’s screams echo around her. _May! Please! I need help! Please, May!!_

May twirls around the room but she can’t find the source of the calls. “Peter! Where are you? I can’t find you!”

_Help! It hurts! I c-can’t…_

His voice breaks and fades away on the last word.

“Peter?! Peter!! Where are you? PETER!!”

Oh god, it’s happening again. He’s gone and she can’t find him. And someone’s hurting him. And she’s stuck in this awful apartment and–

_May!_

She feeds her fingers through her hair at the desperation in his voice. “I can’t find you!” she calls out uselessly.

_May! May!_

“May!!”

Her eyes snap open with a sharp intake of breath. She looks up from her bed to see Peter’s face hovered over hers, eyes wide and concerned.

“I’m right here, May. It’s just a dream,” he attempts to placate, his voice soft but strong. It takes a moment for the voice to register. It’s so kind and steady that for a brief moment she can almost believe that maybe the past six months were all just part of the bad dream.

But then she looks back up at the unfamiliar ceiling and Peter’s pale form, and she feels reality slam back into her almost like a physical being.

She runs a shaky hand over her face then blindly grabs her glasses from the nightstand in order to see him more clearly.

“It’s okay, May. I’m right here.”

She slides herself up to a seated position and pats the space next to her. Peter immediately joins her, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks. His hands twist around each other in his lap.

May reaches up and lightly scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, sweetie, I’m okay. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I wasn’t really asleep anyway.”

She pauses to consider the turn of events. While Peter’s voice has gradually been getting stronger – more confident – during the day, it’s been a slow and tenuous process. His words still fade, sometimes leading to long bouts of silence. Now, in the nonjudgmental night, Peter’s voice remains steady and firm, unwavering as he comforts her.

“Peter, whatever is going on with your voice, you can talk to me –“ She closes eyes at her own stupidity. “ – or maybe write about it.”

The grip on his hands tightens. “I know.”

May waits a moment before offering, “Would you like to stay in my bed tonight?”

Peter silently nods his head against her shoulder.

The two slide down into her queen bed, both with plenty of room on either side. Peter rests his body next to hers, just like he did when he was a kid. He’s heavier now – she’s certain her arm will fall asleep – but she wouldn’t move him for the world.

May’s mind lazily runs through the tasks she needs to complete the following day. She’s been going out of her way to keep her and Peter busy around the makeshift apartment, altering little bits here and there to make it seem more like home. All of the boxes from their Queen’s apartment have finally arrived, which helps immensely.

She subconsciously feels her mind drift away towards sleep when Peter’s voice brings her back.

“They –“

He immediately cuts himself off. May stills, her breath in her chest. She doesn’t need to ask who ‘they’ are. Peter has remained fairly quiet about most things, but he’s been resolutely silent about his time – _away. _

“It – “ he tries again, tensing up a bit into her shoulder. She tightens her grip in response. She feels his mouth open beneath her before snapping shut with a grimace.

May patiently waits to see if anything else is forthcoming.

“I’m sorry,” he finally breathes out, deflating against her, defeated.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, even though her heart is still pounding behind her lungs, trapping her breath. She takes a moment to calm herself. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Ever.”

“I want to. I want –“ he cuts himself off again. She can practically feel his brow furrow against her. “It’s just…hard.” His voice cracks on the last word.

“Don’t worry. We can figure it out.”

-:-

May grips Peter’s hand from under the table. She hates this. Hates every single moment of it. But it is as necessary as it is cruel.

“Sorry, Officer. That’s all I remember. They left me alone for the most part.” Peter is visibly straining to put a bit of power behind his voice.

May swallows around the lie, even though it is one she instructed Peter to give.

The woman from the 105th precinct gently places her pen beside her notebook. “Well, thank you Mr. Parker for your time. I hope they are taking good care of you here.”

Peter nods in response.

May gently pats his leg. “I’ll meet you back in our wing, okay?” she whispers. She knows the officer may have a few follow-up questions for her and judging by Peter’s trembling hands, he has reached his max. Wordlessly, Peter stands and leaves the obscenely large conference room reserved for the three of them.

The police officer’s eyes sadly crinkle as she watches Peter leave the room.

“Thank you for coming out this way. I know it’s quite the trek,” May attempts to redirect the woman’s attention. While pity will definitely work in their favor, she doesn’t want Peter to pick up on it.

“Actually, it’s a bit nice to get out of the city for a while.” The woman flips back through her notes and quickly checks them against the report in her file. May is acutely aware of what is in the report, having provided them the story of Peter Parker, her nephew and Tony Stark’s intern, kidnapped to try to get confidential information regarding Stark Industries. It was a cover story that Peter hated but Tony demanded.

“It looks like everything he said matches with what you provided us last week. We just need to corroborate the events with Tony Stark. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find him?”

May gestures casually to the door Peter just walked out of. “Probably on the other side of that door.”

-:-

Eating dinner with Tony, and sometimes Pepper, has now become part of their routine. Twice a week Tony comes in with bags of food from what he claims to be a ‘local’ restaurant. Having grown up in New York City where everything is only a block away, May thinks she has a different idea of what ‘local’ is – nothing seems local to the Avengers Compound in her book.

She has a strong feeling a private helicopter or iron suit is involved in its delivery considering the food is always still warm when it hits their plates.

Pepper is away in Paris, leaving the three of them enjoying large heaps of pasta and carpaccio.

May’s relieved to see over the past week Peter’s appetite has reignited, always dishing himself a second serving. Tony must’ve noticed as well considering he brought enough food to last them a week, even with a hyper-metabolized teenager.

“So your birthday,” Tony comments before taking a sip of red wine.

Peter lowers his fork and looks up curiously.

“The big one-six. I think we missed it. What do you want? Ferrari? Bugatti?”

May glances over her own glass. “Tony,” she warns.

He concedes by lifting both of his hands. “Okay, okay. Ixnay on the sports car.”

“Or any car.”

Tony casually leans over towards Peter and jabs a thumb in May’s direction. “Killjoy,” he mutters, clearly loud enough for her to hear.

May raises her eyebrows. “Parent,” she states while gesturing to herself. She then vaguely gestures in Tony’s direction, “Overly indulgent mentor.”

Peter continues to eat his pasta, the amusement clear on his face.

“You can think about it,” she offers. Honestly, she needs a bit more time to before preparing for a celebration presumably with cake and people.

Peter shrugs, looking between the two of them. “Maybe some video games?”

“Done,” Tony immediately responds before resuming his own meal.

May narrows her eyes. She isn’t sure what, but there’s something in Tony’s voice that doesn’t sit well with her.

-:-

_“Mr. and Mrs. Parker, a Mr. Leeds has arrived.” _

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” May responds. <strike></strike>

Peter visibly frowns and furrows his brow at the disembodied voice. Confused at his reaction, May’s sure her face mirrors his. Peter had been nervously excited at the prospect of seeing Ned all day. She had expected he would be eagerly greeting him at the door.

"That's...Ned, right?" he tentatively asks from his spot on the couch. 

The question startles May, but she forces a smile and calmly replies, “Yeah, that's Ned. Do you want to go get him or should I?”

_“Boss has already taken care of it,” _F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts._ “They should be arriving to the Parker Wing in less than two minutes.”_

Peter finally relaxes, his lips quirking upward. “Ned is going to love that.” His voice is soft, but it doesn’t hide his excitement.

“I just hope he doesn’t pass out.”

Peter smiles even wider at her words.

It doesn’t take long for Ned’s voice to filter in through their open door.

“…so cool. Mr. Iron Man, sir – I mean, Mr. Stark. I mean, yes, Mr. Stark. This is so un-freakin’-believable. Do you still use the iron suits? I mean I know you’re retired, sir, but do you still have them? They must come in handy.”

Peterh stands as the voice gets louder and more animated. May remains a few feet behind him, giving him space, but still available to Tony if he needs some assistance calming the hyper teen.

Ned is practically hopping next to Tony as the two enter the room. “I’d use them just for avoid commercial airlines, not that you need to take commercial airlines – Peter!”

The boy rushes in and immediately wraps Peter in a tight hug. Much to May’s relief, Peter easily returns the gesture. After a few seconds the two break apart to do their signature handshake, but several movements in, Peter falters, almost like a video game glitch. Almost intuitively, Ned slows his actions, giving Peter a chance to catch up.

Tony moves to stand beside her. “I found this broken Chatty Cathy in the foyer. I’m assuming he’s yours?”

May is too wrapped up in watching the teens to respond. It warms her heart to see Peter so at ease.

“Peter, holy crap. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe _I’m _here. This is amazing! How long have you been living as a stay-at-home Avenger?!”

Peter pauses to consider the question. He glances over to May. She raises three fingers to help. “…Three weeks?” he responds, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiles and gives a slight nod.

“Three weeks? That means…” Peter looks back in time to see the excitement fade from his friend’s face. Ned’s brow furrows and his dark eyes soften. “Where _were _you?”

_Shit. _She should have seen this coming – _she definitely did see this coming_ – had secretly considered whether or not to call Ned ahead of time to have a private chat. But Peter had planned the visit, and she was so pleased with seeing Peter take the initiative that she purposefully stayed out of it.

May steps forward to intervene, but Peter stops her by quickly clasping a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “C’mon. I have so many cool new games to show you.”

Ned easily takes the bait. “Sweet! What console do you have?”

“All of them,” Peter grins.

May watches as the teenagers scurry from the room. Once they are out of sight, she immediately turns to Tony, her gaze hard and disbelieving. “All of them?”

Tony simply shrugs. “You didn’t notice?”

“I thought that was going to be his birthday present…and not _all of them._”

Tony points at her, “Parent.” He throws a thumb back his way, “Overly indulgent mentor.”

May rolls her eyes and playfully hits the man's arm.

-:-

May tries her hardest to give Ned and Peter some semblance of privacy. The two have been playing video games on the large TV in the living room for the past few hours. Ned’s voice easily travels down the hall to her room, while Peter’s been unsurprisingly quiet. She casually starts doing a few loads of laundry, figuring it’s the best way to keep busy, while still needing to occasionally go through the living room in order to reach the laundry room. As she surreptitiously watches Peter, she’s relieved to see an easy smile and relaxed posture against the couch.

She continues through her laundry routine, working her way through clothes, bed sheets and finally towels when she overhears four words that will always make her stop in her tracks.

“Please don’t tell May.”

“Peter, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. That was really scary.”

May sidles up to the open doorway, leaning against the door frame. Her knuckles are white from where she clutches the full laundry basket.

“I’m fine. I-I promise. It just happens sometimes – It’s –”

She can tell Peter’s voice is fading. She leans in further to see if she can pick up on anything else, but it’s difficult to hear over the background music from the video game.

Luckily, Ned’s voice is much louder than Peter’s. “Okay, okay, Peter. I promise. I won’t tell. Just please don’t freak out again.”

May bites her lip at Ned’s words. She’s seen it herself – the way Peter can become distant or frantic, often without any warning. Luckily, it doesn’t tend to last long and it seems to be happening with decreasing frequency. Regardless, each time is a stark reminder of the trauma he has gone through. She considers dropping her basket and rushing in there, but Ned’s voice stops her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Peter responds with a bit more strength than before.

May takes that as her cue to return to her room.

-:-

“No. Absolutely not,” May states unequivocally, barely able to believe her ears.

“Why not?”

May’s grips the back of the kitchen chair as she looks over her nephew. He’s standing to his full height now, making him noticeably taller than her. Even living in such close quarters, she’ll never get used to looking up at him. “Because it’s dangerous. Because you could get hurt. Because you just got back,” she rattles off, counting off each point on her fingers.

“It’s not dangerous and it’s been a month.”

May’s eyes narrow. “This is Tony’s idea, isn’t it? F.R.I.D.A.Y., contact-“

“No!” Peter immediately interrupts.

May would be impressed with the force behind his voice if it wasn’t for the fact that he decided to use his newfound strength and confidence to argue with her. She supposes she should have expected as much from a teenager.

“May, it isn’t his idea. I swear. Mr. Stark doesn’t even really spar. He just upgrades his suit a bazillion times to make sure he can blast the enemy away.”

May hates to admit it, but that does sound like Tony. “Then where is this even coming from?”

“Mr. Stark says that Natasha is coming to visit.”

“Who the hell is Natasha?” It is now the second time May has heard the name in relation to Peter and she is no closer to placing it.

“You know…” Peter trails off for a moment, as if realizing his error. “Black Widow?”

“The assassin?! No! Absolutely not.”

May is about to turn away to signal the end of the discussion when Peter reaches out to grab her arm. “_Please,_ May,” he begs. “She said she would help me train.”

May swears she’s about to have a stroke. “Train for _what _exactly?” Her voice has taken on an eerie calm quality that reminds her of her own mother.

Peter immediately snaps his mouth shut.

Images of red and blue spandex fill May’s mind. She can clearly picture that damn outfit swinging in between buildings at a speed and height that could kill the average person. Even before H.Y.D.R.A., he occasionally came back with a sprain or a limp. He always tried to hide it, leading her to constantly worry about how many evenings he was successful in his subterfuge. She tries to imagine going back to that world where he leaves for hours every evening to fight dangerous criminals. Criminals who have deadly weapons and no regard for who they maim or kill.

“No.” May vehemently shakes her head and raises her hand. “No. This is not happening. This is not _going_ to happen.”

“_May, please._ It doesn’t need to lead to anything yet-“

“_Yet?!_ This is how we ended up here in the first place.”

She can’t do it again. She can’t stay up all night waiting for him to come home from a ‘patrol’. Can’t make dinner in hopes that he will be timely enough to enjoy it before it gets cold. Can’t help him out of a torn suit to see how bad some scumbag sliced him. Can’t stupidly think everything is okay only to come home to an empty room and a discarded sweatshirt. She’s done enough of that for a lifetime and he’s now safe in front of her and she’s _not_ risking it again.

“No. I’m sorry. No. No way,” May repeats as she continues to shake her head. She is so resistant to the idea that she hadn’t even realized when she closed her eyes. When no response is forthcoming from Peter, she opens them to find him pale and shaking. _Shit._

Instinctually, she reaches forward to try and close the distance between them.

Peter immediately steps back.

May is never quite certain what causes Peter to disengage. Sometimes she can make an educated guess, but just as often it appears to come out of nowhere.

“Peter,” she gently calls out, in hopes that this episode will be one of the quicker ones. The longer they last the more Peter withdraws after the fact, often hiding in his room for hours on end.

Peter’s eyes are wide and unfocused, locked on the ground in between them.

“Peter, it’s me, May.”

His arms remain dead at his sides, still except for the slight tremble in his shoulders.

“Can you tell me what you see?”

Peter opens his mouth to answer but just as quickly closes it, his lips white with tension.

“Okay, I’ll start,” she offers, keeping her voice calm as she looks around the kitchen. “I see an oven and a refrigerator.” She pauses for a moment to see if Peter will join. When nothing is forthcoming she continues to the space beside them, “I see a messy kitchen table with parts from a video game strewn all over it.”

“Xbox,” Peter breathes, barely audible.

“What, honey?” May prompts.

“X – “ he chokes on the word.

“It’s okay. What were you trying to do with the Xbox?”

Peter slides his eyes over to cluttered table. The small movement is enough to encourage May to wait until he answers.

“Im-improve the graphics card.”

She gently smiles. It spurs a memory of Peter as a preteen, spending evenings with Ben at their kitchen table, breaking apart a variety of different electronics in an attempt to ‘upgrade’ them. She tries not to dwell on how much has changed since then. “Well, I’m not going to be any help there,” she states even though Peter is well aware of her ineptitude around all things technology related.

Peter smiles at her response but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

May gestures towards the chair beside them. “Do you want to sit down?”

He slowly shakes his head.

“Are you back with me?”

He nods, still staring staring at the table.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Now that the threat of a spiral has decreased, May gives Peter a few moments to fully come back. She watches has his hands and shoulders slowly cease their trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Peter finally says, his voice weak but no longer stuttering.

She has long since given up on telling him there’s nothing to apologize for. Sometimes she finds the refusal does more harm than good. So she provides the only condolence she can offer, “I’m sorry too.”

Peter swallows once before looking her, his eyes wet and red rimmed. “May, I really think working with Natasha will help.”

She looks over Peter – _this _Peter – this Peter with shaky hands and a faltering voice. This Peter who wakes up most nights distraught and terrified. This Peter who is the same genius boy with the heart of gold that disappeared almost seven months ago and, despite one organization’s best efforts, came back with the same drive to do some good in the world.

She would be so damn proud if she wasn’t so terrified of what it meant for his future.

“I know. _I know_,” she desperately repeats as she runs her hands through her hair. “But sparring with known assassins is not what I had in mind. You should be going to counseling. Catching up on school. Teenager things.” She leaves the obvious – _not Spider-Man things _– unspoken.

“No therapy,” Peter states with the same level of conviction as May had earlier.

She sighs, thinking of all the one-sided conversations they’ve already had regarding the topic. “I know. I know you don’t want to talk to someone.” She closes her eyes to try to think of some middle ground.

Peter needs therapy. She knows it deep down. As much as he’s improving during the day, each night he screams out, his voice now strong enough to properly express the terrors he experienced. It leaves May feeling teary-eyed and helpless as she desperately tries to shake him awake. Hell, she probably needs a bit of counseling too.

May closes her eyes at the concession she knows she must make. “Can we make a deal?” She already hates the words coming out of her mouth.

Peter glances up at her.

““You can train – only _train _– with this Natasha woman…”

Peter’s face brightens.

“…if you get some counseling too.”

His face immediately falls. He chews on his lip for a moment. “How much?”

“Once a week.”

“Month,” he bargains.

May’s eyes narrow. “Two weeks. Last offer.”

“Deal.”

-:-

May finds herself aimlessly wandering through their rooms immediately after Peter leaves for the training room. There are a few things she could be doing – she’s taken to prepping for dinner while Peter is preoccupied due to his aversion to knives. But now there’s nothing to prep, and she isn’t certain she could focus long enough even if there was.

Despite Tony’s reassurances, she’s had a sick feeling in her stomach all day at the thought of Peter sparring with a random avenger. She’s been trying so hard to reestablish some boundaries. Being a helicopter parent is becoming exhausting and she knows it will do nothing but hinder Peter’s growth. But she doesn’t know this Natasha woman. She barely even has an awareness of Black Widow, only that she is an assassin and was part of the team that stopped some random aliens during an invasion a few years ago. She tried finding some more information about her online, but everything came up disturbingly blank, causing the dread in her stomach to solidify.

And now this woman is alone with Peter in some pre-approved fighting ring.

Fuck that. Fuck boundaries. And fuck herself for ever thinking this was a good idea.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you lead me to Peter?” she asks the ceiling though she never did quite figure out where the A.I. resides.

_“Of course, ma’am.” _

Following the guiding lights, May finds herself a few floors up in a completely different wing of the compound. She approaches a steel door and opens it the sound of rapid shuffling and punching.

May freezes at the sight of Peter.

He’s wearing an old t-shirt and sweats, going head to head with a red-headed woman who can only be Black Widow. The woman definitely has years of training under her belt, delivering multiple punches and kicks in rapid succession, sometimes throwing in a flip or some type of roundhouse kick.

And Peter dodges every one.

May knows she shouldn’t be surprised. She knows Spider-Man can fight. She’s seen it on grainy news footage and uploaded YouTube videos. But until now she’s never seen Peter in that capacity. She slowly slides herself towards the corner of the room, as she watches Peter, her geeky nephew, hold his own against an Avenger.

She holds back a gasp when Natasha finally lands a kick to Peter’s chest, sending him to the floor. Without pausing, Peter flips himself upright and goes into a defensive stance. Natasha takes a moment to slow her movements to precisely show Peter how she was able to land the kick. Peter silently nods and the two go back to their rapid-fire spar.

After several more minutes, pink starts coloring Peter cheeks as he pants through each movement. To May’s dismay, Natasha has barely broken a sweat. After a few sloppy kicks on Peter’s end, Natasha takes a few steps back and raises her hands.

“That’s enough for today,” she states.

“No – no I’m good. Let’s go again.” Peter inches forward, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

Natasha does a quick combo that catches Peter in the stomach. “You’re out of shape,” she coolly states.

Arm wrapped around his midsection, Peter flinches back at her words.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of but it’s true. We’ll go again tomorrow.”

Peter accepts the statement with a nod. He turns towards the door and immediately stops in his tracks. “May!” he exclaims, his eyes widening with surprise. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been here the whole time.”

Before May can answer, Natasha interrupts from beside him, “You weren’t aware there was another person in the room?”

Peter leans away from the woman’s hard gaze and sheepishly responds, “Well, she wasn’t there when I got here.”

“What if she was an enemy?”

“My spidey sense would’ve –“

Natasha flicks Peter’s ear. “What have I told you about relying too much on your powers?”

“Hey!” He reaches up to protect his ear from further attacks. “Okay. Okay. Point taken.”

May smiles at the ease the two seem to have around each other. She doesn’t know if Peter had spent any time with the woman before – she can’t recall anything specifically but there were months where this side of his life was hidden from her – but she’s now thankful the Avenger has taken an interest in him. She finally steps forward from her spot in the corner to approach her nephew. “You looked really good out there, Peter.”

Peter blinks owlishly at her words. “Thanks, May,” he breathes before heading towards the door.

May waits for the door to click shut behind him then turns towards the other woman. “You’re good with him.”

Natasha shrugs. “He’s a good student.”

“Do you have any kids of your own?”

“No.” If there’s any dismay at the fact, Natasha doesn’t show it.

May thinks about her own life – how not that long ago she was a married, childless woman with a fulfilling career and a loving husband. It seems like someone else’s life now. Too different to even properly compare. “I guess, technically, neither do I.”

“He may not be biologically related, but he is yours.”

May hums in agreement then pauses to consider the words. She looks sharply at the woman, reconsidering her newfound trust. “I never said he wasn’t my biological nephew.”

Natasha passively holds her gaze.

May sighs and pinches her nose. This is a woman who is a world renowned assassin. This is the woman who recovered the video feed from the H.Y.D.R.A. facility. A – _seemingly _– human woman who fights alongside the Avengers. “Does anyone in this facility understand boundaries?”

Natasha quirks one eyebrow and knowingly pats her shoulder. “Welcome to the team.”

And with that, Natasha walks out the door.


	6. The First Year

Time casually passes by. Without a regular job, May often finds herself forgetting what day of the week it is. They celebrate Christmas with Tony and Pepper in a surprisingly quiet affair. She almost starts to question if the ‘Party Animal Tony Stark’ persona is some type marketing move to increase awareness of his brand.

Then New Year’s happens.

It is, without a doubt, the most outrageous party she or Peter ever attended, complete with ice sculptures and waterfalls. There is a live band and a DJ and enough people milling around everywhere that the two can play at the same time without any overlap. A year ago, May would have absolutely loved it. She would’ve enjoyed making small talk with all the bigwigs. Maybe even come up with a background story or a fake accent to have a bit of fun.

This year though, she finds herself not quite in the mood. She definitely enjoys the atmosphere – and the free music and booze – but she finds herself naturally being a wallflower. Simply observing the people casually living the lifestyle she once could only dream of.

She catches Tony with a glass of scotch in one hand and his arm wrapped around Peter with the other. He’s guiding the boy from group to group, seemingly doing quick introductions before moving on to the next one. She catches Peter eye and he gives her a small smile in return. His shoulders seem relaxed and he’s nodding along with whatever Tony is saying, so she grabs a glass of champagne and slowly picks away at the buffet, never straying too far so Peter knows where to find her.

It takes an hour or two – still well before midnight – for Peter to appear in front of her, jaw tense and hands stiff.

“Did something happen?”

Peter shakes his head and looks away. “No, it’s just…_a lot._”

May chuckles, “Tell me about. What do you say we load up with as much food as we can and head back to our place?”

Peter smiles and wordlessly grabs a plate.

Their bellies full with ungodly amounts of fine cuisine, the two watch the ball drop over New York from the comfort of their living room.

-:-

Weeks slowly progress into months at the compound. Peter starts taking online courses to catch up at school, and she takes a contracting job at some kind of ‘dial a nurse’ company. The money isn’t great, but it keeps her busy while Peter studies and there’s no commute.

It’s difficult – still makes her stomach clench and her palms sweaty – but she starts letting Peter out of her eyesight for longer and longer periods of time. Mostly because she knows exactly where he is and what he’s doing. Peter begins therapy with Tony’s psychiatrist. May’s pleased that he sticks to his promise of going twice a month, even during the periods of time where Natasha is away, leaving no one to train with. Occasionally, he will lift weights with Tony. But that seems to be more of a competition than training, seeing who can lift more, Peter or Tony’s latest suit. The suit always wins, but that doesn’t stop Peter from trying.

At Peter’s request, she starts sleeping in her own room again. She dislikes it – absolutely _hates_ it – at first. She rolls around on the brand new mattress, unable to shut off her brain for any stretch of time to sleep. She muddles through the next few days more zombie than human until her body is so exhausted that it completely shuts down one evening and doesn’t restart again until morning. After that, it gradually becomes easier.

Occasionally, she wakes up to Peter standing next to her bed, his hair damp with sweat and limbs shaky. Without a word, she moves over and pulls back the cover for Peter to climb in. Once he’s situated against her and his limbs have stilled, she whispers above his head, “What happened?”

On good nights, he shakes his head. On bad nights, there’s no response at all.

-:-

When Peter does start talking, it’s not in a way May expects.

“Sorry about dinner, I got distracted and left it in the oven for too long,” she apologizes as she places a tray of burned lasagna on the table between them.

Undeterred, Peter scoops are a large portion on his plate. “After six months of gruel, I don’t think anything can be unappetizing.”

It’s so offhanded and flippant that it takes May’s brain a moment or two to catch up. Once it does, she feels her own appetite vanish. May stares at Peter digging in, seemingly unaware of the bombshell he left on the table next to the crusty pasta. She silently takes a bite, forcing the piece down.

She almost forgets about the comment until a few days later. Oblivious to Peter’s sleeping form on the couch, she flips on the lights as she enters the living room. Peter quietly groans and blinks against the harsh light.

“Oh! Sorry sweetie,” May quickly apologizes, shutting off the lights.

“No biggie, once I thought they were going to burn out my retinas.”

May freezes. Swallowing once, she shakily offers, “I…I’m sorry that happened.”

Peter scrunches his face and takes one hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Huh?”

“I...” she pauses, her brain still processing the comment. “Never mind.” She walks out of the room, feeling like a coward.

Peter continues to make comments here and there during the day – always unprompted and never with any type of emotion beyond casual acceptance. There’s never any pattern or frequency to them. Sometimes he’ll go weeks without saying anything, only to make multiple comments in the span of a few days.

“It’s cold out there today. Almost thought I was going to lose a few toes making it back to New York. Glad I’m not stuck out there now,” he says after a quick jog around the compound.

May simply hums in response. She turns up the heat a few degrees when Peter’s no longer looking.

“That’s not what a kidney looks like,” he remarks while watching some poorly produced medical drama on TV.

He’s right. As a nurse, she knows he’s right, but she glances over at him anyway. “How do you know what a kidney looks like?”

“Look at it!” he laughs in response, gesturing at the screen.

She doesn’t miss the slight shake in his hand as he points. They stop watching the show after that.

However, at night, when he's folded against her and rubbing the tears out of his eyes, he remains silent.

-:-

Dinner ready on the table, May casually opens the door to Peter’s room. “Tony’s here for-“ The rest of the sentence dies in her mouth at the sight of red spandex. “What the _fuck_?”

Peter immediately rips off the mask and before turning to face her. “May, _May, _it’s not what it looks like.”

She’s suddenly transported to over a year ago, obliviously making dinner while her fifteen year old nephew walked around his room in a newly re-gifted Spider-Man outfit. She would be laughing at the overwhelming sense of déjà vu if it wasn’t her greatest fear coming to life.

May gestures wildly to the mask in Peter’s hand. “Why do you have that?” She doesn’t even bother to give Peter a chance to answer, immediately turning on her heel hunt down the man who undoubtedly gave Peter the wretched suit. “Tony!!” She screams out of the doorway, only slightly embarrassed to see him already standing behind her. “Tony, do you want to tell me why the hell Peter has that damn costume?”

“Costume?” Tony raises his eyebrows, looking way more calm than May thinks he has a right to be. “I just gave him the mask.”

May’s right hand twitches with the desire to slap the cocky look off the man’s face. Luckily for him, Peter grabs her shoulder and swings her back in his direction. “See, May? See? It’s just the mask.” He holds out the red spandex in front of him like a peace offering. “I can’t really do anything with just the mask.”

May sets her jaw. “If I recall correctly, you were doing plenty without _any_ Stark tech.”

“That’s…That was different. I promise, May. I _promise_. I haven’t been going out. I just-“ Peter cuts himself off, pink flushing his cheeks.

Luckily, she still has faith in her ability to tell when Peter is lying. Right now Peter is frantic, but not deceitfully so. Calming her voice, she locks eyes with the boy and asks, “…just what?”

When nothing is forthcoming, Tony pipes up from behind her, “He missed Karen.”

May’s brow furrows. “Who?” She then follows Peters gaze to the mask. “…Oh.”

Peter’s still not looking at her when he states, “I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” she cuts him off, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Tony takes a few steps to stand beside her. “Yeah, kiddo. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is my second in command…Don’t tell Pepper.”

Luckily, that gets a small smile from Peter.

Now that the scene has calmed, May thinks back to her own reaction, guilt growing from her core. “I’m sorry,” she says as she grabs his shoulders. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I just worry and…” May trails off thinking about the times she’s caught Peter absentmindedly flipping through old articles or YouTube videos. His posture is always relaxed – almost wistful – but May doesn’t miss the deep yearning in his eyes. The one year anniversary was the hardest, catching them both off guard. They couldn’t escape the mentions of Spider-Man in the local news. Presumed dead, there was even a memorial in Queens held by the locals. May sighs and recollects herself. “I know you want to go back out there. I also know you’re sneaky enough to do it-“

“I promise. I’m not.”

May closes her eyes and nods. “I know. I know. I just worry that you will and I won’t know.”

Peter catches her eyes when she opens them. “I _won’t_.”

May smiles sadly at his conviction. Right now, she believes him, but she also knows it’s just going to take one event. One person in danger – one catastrophe he could help prevent – for him to break it.

-:-

That evening, after Peter heads to bed, May finds herself making her way down the elevator to Tony’s workshop. She feels a rush of relief when she finds the man there, idly working on some unrecognizable part of his suit.

Tony casually glances up when she enters. “What’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think there’s anything on my mind?”

“Because you’re here at… twelve a.m.” Tony slightly frowns at the time. May isn’t sure if he was expecting it to be earlier or later, though she has feeling it’s the former.

“Fair enough.” May grabs a stool across from Tony and rests against it. “He’s going to go back out there, isn’t he?”

Tony doesn’t bother to look up from whatever random piece of machinery he’s working on. Honestly, May can’t tell if it’s a thruster or an engine or a foot. “As Spider-Man? Most definitely.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop it?” She pauses to reconsider her words. She doesn’t want to force Peter to do anything. She doesn’t want to be the ‘bad guy’ in his life story. Like it or not, she knows he is less than two years away from being a full-fledged adult. “…to convince him otherwise?” she amends.

“No, I already tried once. He’ll find a way.” Tony pauses in his tinkering and lets out a long exhale. It’s the first sign that this eventuality may bother him as much as it does her. He places his hands on the table and looks up. “And honestly, that’s why we shouldn’t get in his way.” His voice is confident but the resigned look on his face tells her that he hates his own conclusion.

May raises her eyebrows for him to explain further.

“He’s the best of all of us, May.” He says it like a compliment but May can only hear it as a curse. “New York needs him to be out there. _He_ needs to be out there. Whatever lesson or moral code you instilled in the boy worked. He’s better than any of us can ever be.”

May wearily chuckles and shakes her head. “That wasn’t me. That was Ben.”

Tony points his wrench in her direction. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

-:-

Peter goes back to being Spider-Man. May spends the first patrol watching him through the aptly named ‘baby monitor protocol’. Peter gripes – mostly about the name – but easily relents.

Shoulders tense and hands shaky, May sits on the couch and watches Peter swing away from the compound. It takes less than an hour for her to throw up in a waste basket from motion sickness. After Peter returns, she gets Tony to grant her access to alerts and leaves the ‘baby monitoring’ to someone with a stronger stomach.

The following week she catches Peter looking at pictures and videos of himself swinging around upstate. The news quickly spreads of his return. This naturally leads to a few Queens civilians making an appeal to come back to their turf – complete with a hashtag. May gently grabs the tablet when Peter starts watching the video of the plea for a fourth time.

“When can we go back home?”

May bites her lip at the sorrow in his voice. While the compound is unequivocally nicer than their apartment, she is finding herself yearning for the familiarity more and more with each passing day. She misses her job, her friends, her _life. _

She swallows her own ache and states, “When it’s safe.”

-:-

May and Peter have started regularly preparing dinner together. Peter is definitely the better cook of the two, which even May admits is not a huge feat. Peter still becomes antsy when she wields a knife, leaving him to prep the vegetables. She can visibly see the way he relishes in the control as he quickly chops them down the cutting board.

“Ow.”

May looks over Peter’s shoulder to see a large cut on his thumb already dripping with blood.

“_Jesus,_” she breathes, grabbing a dish towel behind her and quickly wrapping the injured digit. “Where’s the first aid kit?” she asks, even though she’s fairly confident they don’t have one – stupidly didn’t even think to buy one knowing they now have full access to a medical bay. Watching red blossom on the towel, she grips his thumb harder. “C’mon, let’s get you to a doctor.”

“May. _May, _stop,” Peter pleads pushing her hands away. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Undeterred, May pulls Peter’s arm to guide him to his feet. “You’re hurt. They need to look at it.”

With a fraction of his true strength, Peter pulls his arm away. “May! Please stop.”

May falters, taking a few steps back at the desperation in Peter’s voice. Peter casually unwraps the towel to show that the bleeding has already noticeably slowed. She gently grabs his hand and takes a closer look. She should be relieved – she_ knows _she should be relieved – but her stomach still tightens at the sight of his blood – at the possibility of another scar on his already marred body.

Trying to alleviate the situation, Peter comments, “See? It’s really not a big deal, May. They regularly sliced the pads off my fingers. This is nothing.”

The words sit like a dead weight on May’s chest. Images of Peter – her boy, _her sweet and caring boy _– trapped and in pain fill her mind. She tries to blink them away but they only become crisper – more hideously vivid – with each passing second, until all that is left is the image of mutilated hands, identical to those she’s seen from patients in motorcycle accidents.

She looks back down at Peter’s hands, one covered in blood, and can’t stop the tears from falling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she says. She wipes her tears away, but more quickly take their place. “I want you to talk about it. I want you to feel like you can talk about it with me. It’s just hard.” She thinks back to all the offhanded comments Peter has made, each word permanently scorched in her mind. “It’s _so_ hard. And I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better.”

Peter wraps his arms around her, guiding her head to his shoulder like she has done countless times before. “I’m sor-“

“Don’t,” she cuts him off. She reaches her hands up to return the hug. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She sniffs back her tears, but they are relentless and already dampening his shirt.

“You _are_ making it better. You’ve made it so much better.” His voice is so strong and genuine that May physically feels the relief behind the words – like a balm soothing a burn.

The two remain in their embrace for a long minute. May slowly calms her stuttering heart and successfully blinks away her tears. She feels Peter take a deep breath, his exhale warm and long on the back of her head.

She thinks he’s about to break away but instead he shatters her world even more.

“They had a picture of you.”

“What?” May leans back, her brain grinding to a halt, unable to process the implications of the statement.

“They knew where we live. They had a picture of you. Used it to make me stop fighting them,” Peter pauses for a moment, looking away, the shame clear on his face. “…It worked.”

May places a hand to Peter’s cheek, “Oh, honey.” She tries to think of when they could have gotten the picture. She can feel bile churn when nothing comes to mind. “I had no idea.” She pulls Peter back into their hug.

Peter silently grips the back of her shirt.

“Thank you for telling me.”

-:-

Tony enters their kitchen early one morning, looking far more alert than May thought possible for the man at sunrise.

“Nat thinks she’s found the last base.”

Still in her pajamas, May looks at him over her freshly poured coffee. “Tony, it’s six a.m. I’m going to need a whole lot more context.”

Tony places his hands on the kitchen table in front of her and leans in. His gaze hard and face determined, May can clearly picture this man in the ironclad outfit. “The group that had Peter. We think we’ve found the last of them.”

“What? Seriously?” It’s been almost a year since Peter had returned. She was starting to think that tracking the motherfuckers down was ultimately a lesson in futility.

“We’re leaving in an hour. With any luck we will be back by the end of the day.”

“That’s great!” She thinks of Peter sound asleep in his bedroom expecting to work with Tony the moment he wakes up. “What should I tell Peter?”

Tony stands back up and offhandedly says, “Just say I had to go do some damage control about something stupid and a total waste of my time.”

“That does sound like you.”

Tony knocks the table once with his knuckles then heads towards the door. “See you later.”

Suddenly, May thinks of the time Ben left one sunny morning. “Tony!” she calls out. Too many times she has had men walk out her door only for something devastating to happen. “Stay safe. Peter needs you.”

Tony nods once and then leaves.

May waits well into the morning to wake Peter. She’s honestly a bit surprised he’s sleeping in so late but figures as long as his sleep is peaceful, he deserves as much rest as he can get. Finally, as the morning quickly approaches the p.m. territory, May opens his bedroom door only to see an empty bed.

“Peter?” she calls, glancing around the room and then looking down the hall. She continues to walk through the wing calling his name. When no response is forthcoming, she glances up at the ceiling and asks, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Peter?” Her voice remains calm even though she can practically feel a stone forming in her stomach.

_“Mr. Parker has left the compound.” _

“What?!” She knows – _she knows_ – where he’s gone but her brain refuses to accept it. She immediately rushes back into his room, opening his closet only to see hangers of typical teenager wear. The lack of red and blue spandex glares back at her almost like a physical being. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., where_ is_ Peter?”

_“There is no tracker within Mr. Parker, once he leaves the compound-“_

“Fine!” she cuts off the robotic voice. “Where is his suit?”

_“It is on the Quinjet with the other Avengers.”_

The response isn’t a surprise, honestly it is exactly what she had been expecting since the sight of his empty bed, but it still sends her brain into overdrive. “Call Peter’s suit right now.”

_“All incoming transmissions are disabled.”_

“Jesus Christ,” May runs a hand over her face, still standing in front of Peter’s damning closet. “Call Tony’s suit. Call Natasha. Call anyone on that goddamn plane.”

_“All incoming transmissions from outside sources are disabled during missions, ma’am.”_

_Missions._ Peter is well on his way to entering a ‘mission’ without anyone’s knowledge. May runs her hands through her hair. “Holy fuck,” she mutters. God help that boy, she’s going to kill him. Her hands still on stop of her head she looks up, throwing her last Hail Mary. “What about outgoing?”

_“The baby monitor protocol is still active, ma’am.”_

May rushes out of the room. “Bring it up in the living room, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

May enters the room and stutters to a halt. The screen is almost too dark make out, but she can just barely see the top of Peter’s knees. He’s clearly crouched behind something large and metal, hidden from the Avengers’ view.

“I’m going to kill him,” May mumbles to herself as she slowly sits on the couch.

The video feed shakes a bit and then stills. Peter waits quietly as footsteps pass him. After a few long minutes, when the plane is clearly empty, Peter stands and climbs his way out of the deck. May bites her lip and watches as Peter swings his way to the lone building in the deserted landscape. The movement is just as nauseating as the first time, but she quells her rolling stomach and forces herself to watch.

On the roof, Peter takes his time removing the grate of an air duct and crawls inside. He’s slow and silent to not alert the others but moves with a clear purpose towards the sound of gunshots. May brings up a shaking hand, thinking of her boy throwing himself into danger with such resolve. It’s so reminiscent of Ben that she has to blink away tears.

In the air duct, it takes a while to reach the others, long enough that it sounds like whoever else is on the mission is well into wrangling the H.Y.D.R.A. agents into submission. May supposes that the Avengers have now done this enough times that they have it down to an exact science.

Peter freezes at the sound of Tony’s voice. The words are distorted and indiscernible in the duct, but it’s clearly Tony. Reignited, Peter scrambles towards the voice, appearing to no longer care about being detected. He pauses in front of a grill, catching sight of Tony in his full Iron Man gear and a man May thinks is Iron Patriot – _or was it War Machine now,_ she honestly can’t remember – standing by the slotted grille. In front of them is a man with gray hair and a white lab coat. His back is facing the grille so May cannot make out any discernible features, but she still notices the way the feed now slightly trembles.

Tony lifts his hand towards the man, his threat clear. “We’ve already got the others. Just come quietly and we can call it a day.”

A thick accent, dripping with contempt, fills the space. “I wouldn’t underestimate me. That was always Паук’s problem.”

May jumps in her seat as Peter slams back against the duct. In the small space, she can clearly hear his breaths rattle in his chest.

Through the slots of the grille, May can just make out the top of the grey head turning towards him. “Oooh, is he here? I think I can feel him.”

The head quickly moves and disappears.

“Tony! What the hell is that?!” The other male voice calls out.

“Stun him!” Tony’s voice echoes.

May watches in disbelief as the man flips midair across the grate and lands on the wall opposite of the duct. The man inexplicability sticks to the wall in a pose that makes May’s stomach twist with familiarity. Cold eyes peer through the slats and lock on the feed.

“There you are,” the man comments with a tilt of his head, sending chills down May’s spine.

_Run_. May begs in her thoughts. _Just run._

But Peter always had a bit too much of Ben in him, so instead he flies towards the grate, easily kicking it out with both of his feet. What follows is an incomprehensible flurry of movement. She catches sight of Peter’s limbs sticking to walls and landing punches. But she also sees how the man seems to be invincible, feeding off of Peter’s fury, each punch being easily absorbed and returned. Once or twice she sees Tony trying to aim a blast, but it never comes.

It only takes a few seconds, not even a full minute, but it feels like forever with May’s breath burning in her throat. Peter ends up facing the two Avengers, his stuttering breath echoing May’s. Even though she cannot see the man, she knows Peter is in some type of headlock and being used a human shield.

“Hold your fire!” Tony calls out as Natasha enters the room.

The man behind Peter leans in and, even though she knows it’s impossible, May swears she can feel his hot breath on her neck. “Oh, little паук,” he whispers, “there’s no escaping me. You and I are going to have so much fun.”

“Karen.” Peter’s voice is sharp and determined. “Activate Instant Ki-“

“NO!!” Tony’s voice screams, raising his hand. A bright light fills the screen and suddenly Peter is in the center of the hallway, limbs free and his chest heaving.

The feed nauseatingly spins has Peter whips his head around and locks on the doctor – dead on the floor with the top half of his head blasted off. May can see the grey brain matter spilling out on the floor mixing with the blood streaking down the wall. It’s gruesome and horrible, but what makes her stomach flip is knowing that Peter sees it too.

Peter takes a few shaky steps back from the man and then turns to face Tony. His own chest panting, Tony removes his face plate revealing a pale face and wide eyes. He takes one deep breath to calm himself then looks back at Peter, the relief clear in his expression.

The calm doesn’t even have a moment to settle.

“He was MINE!!” Peter leaps up and flings himself at Tony, catching everyone off guard. He slams into the older man sending them both to the floor. Tony easily catches Peter’s uncoordinated punches. Peter’s movements are visibly more frenzied than they were when he was fighting the doctor. “You had no right!”

“It’s okay,” Tony tries to calm the boy. “It’s…”

Peter is having none of it, continuing to angrily throw himself at his mentor, despite the other Avengers’ efforts to pull him off. “I had him! That _asshole_ was mine!!”

The venom in Peter’s voice catches May by surprise. The past year has been a roller coaster of emotions with Peter but anger has always remained dormant. She wonders if it was always there, simmering beneath the surface, or if the circumstances ignited something that was previously extinguished.

Tony raises his hands and lays back, showing defeat. “Okay…okay.”

Peter stills at Tony’s words and is easily dragged to his feet by War Machine. He pulls himself away from the other man and stomps away. May catches sight of Natasha attempting to place a hand on her boy’s shoulder, but Peter easily evades it, heading back to the jet.

Feeling exhausted herself, May silently watches as Peter sits on the jet and waits for the others. While she believes any sort danger is averted, she cannot turn off the feed while Peter is alone. After a few long minutes, Natasha enters the screen and quietly sits across from him. It’s clear neither will talk, but she knows Peter is safe now, so she turns off the screen and shakily sags against the couch.

-:-

A few hours later, May silently watches as Peter enters their wing and heads straight to his room, avoiding all eye contact. Grimacing at her nephew’s sullen expression, she decides to give the boy an hour, choosing to turn on some mindless T.V. to pass the time.

Two shows later, May quietly knocks on his door and immediately opens it, knowing she won’t get an answer. She enters the room to the sight of Peter laying face down on his bed, still clad in the Spider-Man outfit but with his mask removed.

“I’m sorry I snuck out. Go ahead and ground me,” Peter mutters into his pillow.

May sits on the edge of the bed next to him but makes no move to touch him. “Tony did the right thing.”

Peter turns his head towards her, his eyes sharp and accusing. “How would you know?”

She pointedly looks at the mask on the nightstand then back at him.

Peter’s face goes ashen, anger vanishing. “You saw?” he whispers, his voice high and his eyes round. He looks so much like the little kid she helped raise that she can only nod. He swallows, his mouth finishing in a grimace then turns around to sit up on the bed. “You weren’t supposed to see…that.”

May simply shrugs and says, “Well, you weren’t supposed to sneak out.”

Peter gnaws on his lip. At least the boy has the wherewithal to look away, ashamed.

May sighs and places a hand on Peter’s thigh. “I know it may take a very, very long time for you to agree with me, but I’m glad Tony did what he did. “

Peter slides his eyes further away from her, trying to hide the way they glisten. “He-“ he pauses for a second, swallowing around the word. “I-“ the voice is high and squeaky and immediately cuts off. May can see his Adam’s apple bobbing with effort – can see the way his throat is furiously working, trying to vocalize his thoughts. Her heart sinks with how similar it is to how Peter was when he first came back.

She squeezes his thigh when he swallows and hunches down further. “Take your time. I’m here when you’re ready,” she offers.

Peter opens and closes his mouth a few more times but then whispers, “He was the _worst_.”

May is surprised at the admission, so she presses, “So you wanted to kill him?”

He pauses, as if to think about the question, and then shakes his head. “I just wanted to know I had the power to. He-he took so much and I wanted to know…” his voice trails off as a tear slides down his cheek. “And then Tony took that away.”

May bites her lip. She honestly doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says the only thing she can think of, “He’s Tony now, not ‘Mr. Stark’?”

“I’m really mad.” He doesn’t sound mad, just despondent.

“That’s okay. It’s okay to be mad. But maybe cut Tony some slack too.”

“I’ll think about it.”

May reaches across and runs her hand through his hair, bringing him close to her chest. “You know, you’re so much like Ben that sometimes I hate it. But I’m so, _so_ proud of you. You’re a good kid – the _best._”

Peter hangs his head and mutters, “I don’t feel like I am.”

She scratches the back of his head and hums in response. “Imagine how much worse you’d feel if you actually killed someone.”

Below her, Peter’s pallor loses its color.

-:-

Late that night May heads towards Tony’s quarters after unsuccessfully checking his workshop. She enters the large living area to the sight of the man passed out in a lounger, glass of scotch still gripped in his hand on the armrest.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters under her breath – of all the days for Pepper to be out of the country. Luckily, May is a woman of conviction, and the sight of a billionaire superhero passed out from what must be ungodly amounts of alcohol does little to deter her.

As she approaches, her nose wrinkles at the smell of stale scotch. She leans over the lounger and snaps her fingers in front of the man’s face.

Tony immediately flails, splashing scotch over the rim and down the chair, blinking forcefully against the harsh lights in the room.

“C’mon let’s get you to bed,” May offers, reaching out her hand to grab the half empty glass.

Like a reflex, Tony moves the glass away from her approaching hand, keeping it close to his chest. “So, I’m assuming the kid hates me,” he grumbles, his voice rough and slow.

May stands and places her hands on her hips. “He’s a teenager. He’ll hate every adult in his life at least once.”

Tony grimaces throws back the rest of the scotch in one gulp.

“Hey, hey, enough of that.” She reaches over and forcibly grabs the now empty glass. “It was just a joke. Peter doesn’t hate you.”

“‘Course he does.” Tony runs a hand partway down his face and keeps it there.

_Jesus_, the melodrama one man can show. “No, he doesn’t. You can ask him yourself tomorrow. Right now it’s time for you to get to bed.”

He looks at her from behind his hand and quirks one eyebrow. “Not my mom.”

May’s half tempted to leave him there, but she doesn’t, because after almost a year of staying with the man, she’s grown to admire him – in some twisted way – faults and all. _Goddamit, _she _admires _Tony Stark, so she gives him one last chance, “You want to stay out here and be miserable, fine. But I bet the bed will be a far more comfortable spot to wallow in self-pity.”

Tony grimaces at her words but moves to stand up. Once on his feet, unsurprisingly, he stumbles, almost crashing into the end table. Luckily, May is there with her shoulder to guide him back upright. Slowly, the two of them make it down the hallway to the closest bedroom. From there, he falls off of her and onto the bed, shoes and all.

May bends over and slowly removes a shoe.

Tony frowns at her, half his face smashed against the pillow. “You don’t have to do that.”

May looks up, taking off the second shoe. “You didn’t have to do what you did.” She places both shoes on the ground and stands. “Thank you.”

She knows it isn’t much. She knows she owes the man so much more. But it’s all she has to offer.

And she has a feeling that Tony doesn’t hear those words every often.

-:-

The next morning, May is eating breakfast when Peter slinks his way past her towards the door.

“Where are you off to?”

Peter pauses but doesn’t turn to face her. “To talk to Mr. Stark.”

She casually checks the time on the coffee maker. Slightly smirking, she advises, “I’d wait a few more hours.”

Not asking why, Peter turns to join her in the kitchen. He silently eats his breakfast, his body a bundle of nerves and his foot jiggling. She tries to distract him with the idea of playing video games or working on school work, but he shakes his head and follows her as she goes to the living room to read her book. She’s barely a chapter in when she finds her body just as tense as Peter’s. Looking over her book at his jittery body, she relents, “Fine, you can go.”

Peter shoots off the couch and out of the room, leaving May chuckling at the two emotionally inept men she’s found herself with.

Finding herself in the empty wing, a thought occurs to her. One that should have occurred to her hours before.

_The last base. _They infiltrated the last base. It’s over.

It could _finally_ be over.

Tony is obviously busy having what must be the most awkward heart-to-heart with Peter, and she doesn’t really know Rhodey, leaving only one other person. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Natasha?”

_“Ms. Romanov’s location is undisclosed.”_

May rolls her eyes. Of course it is. “Is she at the compound?”

_“Ms. Romanov’s location is undisclosed.”_

“Can I contact her?”

_“One moment please.” _May almost expects to hear kitschy hold music but is thankfully greeted with silence. She idly waits until the robotic voice calmly states, _“Ms. Romanov will come to you.”_

“Awesome. Any timing on that?”

_“Estimated time of arrival is based on starting location and Ms. Romanov’s location is undisclosed.”_

“Right,” May mutters more for herself than the A.I. Deciding to pass the time, May leans back against the couch and attempts to read her book for the second time that day.

Luckily, the woman wasn’t far, May is only a page in when there is a knock on the door. She leaps up, throwing her book on the table, and opens the door to the sight of Natasha in what must be her 'civilian' clothes. It is odd to see her not in her workout or ‘Avenger’ gear, but May can tell by the way her eyes traverse the unfamiliar wing, she never quite leaves her alter-ego like Tony and Peter do.

“C’mon on in,” May offers as the two enter the living room area.

Natasha easily takes a seat and prompts, “I suppose this has to do with the mission yesterday.”

“No.” May quickly intervenes then reconsiders, “Well, yes, kind of.”

Natasha slightly raises her eyebrows for May to continue.

“I was wondering if it was safe for us to go home…If there’s anyone left who could find Peter?”

Natasha doesn’t even pause before answering. “There’ll always be someone who can find Peter.”

May deflates at the woman’s words. She had considered it – it’d be dumb of her not to – but there was always that sense that this was temporary. That eventually the two of them would be able to go back to the city – to their _home, _together, like it was before.

Natasha looks at her impassively and comments, “The original cell is no longer a threat, if that was your question.”

May looks up and ventures, “But is it safe?”

“As safe as it will ever be.”

“If it was you…and you were me. Would you go?”

Natasha pauses a long moment to consider her question. May appreciates the gravity she seems to be putting into her answer. “I would,” she finally states much to May’s relief. “Peter is a capable young man. And we will put items in place to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

May is so reassured she doesn’t bother to ask what items – that is a conversation for a different day.

“What does Tony think?” Natasha asks.

She looks up at Natasha, eyes wide behind her glasses. She honestly wasn’t expecting the question. Thinking back to the man’s long days with Peter and regular dinners as a strange pseudo-family, May sadly smiles and replies, “I’m sure Tony would keep us here indefinitely if he could.”

Natasha smiles knowingly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Tony will figure out a way to get what he wants, one way or another.”

Thoughts of Tony randomly appearing in their doorway and helicopter rides to and from the compound appear shamelessly in May’s mind. Surprising herself, the idea doesn’t fill her dread or reluctant acceptance.

She just thinks, _Yeah, that could work._

-:-

Less than an hour after Natasha leaves, Peter comes back to the living room with his shoulders hunched but looking calm. “Everything good?” May asks.

“Yeah…we’re good.”

Skeptical, May raises her eyebrows. 

Peter shoves his hands in his pockets and admits, "We'll...get there. I understand why he did what he did."

When Peter doesn’t offer anything else about his conversation with Tony, May relents and switches the topic. “Are you ready to go home?”

Peter looks up in surprise, eyes wide with excitement, “What? Really?”

May gestures towards the empty boxes already littering the living room. “Yeah, really.”

A large smile breaks out across Peter’s face. It’s so open and genuine that May can easily see Peter’s past self taking hold. “Yeah, I am. I really, _really_ am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, sorry everyone. I know this update took quite a while but there was so much I wanted to do (and do properly). Let me know your thoughts. I have an outline of a scene with Clint that I can expand into an epilogue if anyone is interested.


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